';LlijdL' '-1>Uh>-/ 



K 



FOLLY AS IT FLIES 



H/ T A T 



BT 



FANNY FEKK -"/V.-:j 



'••^ 



NEW YORK: 

p. W. Carleton & Co. Publishers, 



LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 

MDcocLxym. 









Entered according to the Aet of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
G. W. CAELETON & CO., 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the ^outljk 
em District of New York 






iiOVEJOT, Son & Co., 

Electbotypees & Steeeotypees, 

15 Yandewater Street, N. Y. 



c^^-HII^ 



MY riiii;Ni> 

EDITOR OF THE NEW YORK LEDGER. 

For fourteen years J the team of Bonner and Fern, has trot- 
ted over the road at 2.40 pace, without a snap 
of the harness, or a hitch of the 
wheels.— Plenty of oats, and 
a skilful rein, the 
secret. 



PKEFACE, 

Yours Truly, 

FANNY FERN. 



CONTENTS, 



PAGE 

DiscouESS UPON Husbands 11 

Geaxdmother's Chat about Chtldeen 33 

Women and their Discontents 50 

Women and some of their Mistakes ■ 68 

Notes upon Peeachees and Peeaching 88 

Beidget as she was, and Beidget as she is 103 

A Chaptee on Tobacco 118 

Give the Convicts a Chance 127 

A GiANCE AT Washington 133 

Glimpses or Camp Life 142 

Unweitten Histoey of the Was 151 

My Summees in New England 163 

Boston and New Yoek 182 

Some things in New Yoek 188 

WOEKENQ GlELS OF NeW YoEK 219 

Washing the Baby 230 

Chtldeen haye their Bights 232 

To Young Giels 244 

A Little Talk with the Othee Sex 253 

A Chaptee on Men 269 

LiTEEAEY People. 274 

Some Vaeieties of Women 280 

Mistakes about oue Chtldeen 295 

Thoughts of Some Eyeey Day Topics 312 

A Trip to the Noetheen Lakes 328 



FOLLY AS IT FLIES. 




A DISCOURSE UPON HUSBAJ^DS. 

WISH every husband would copy into his 
memorandum book this sentence, from a re- 
^^^jcently published work : ^'' Women must he 
constituted very differently from men. A word said, a 
line luritten, and ive are happy ; omitted, our hearts ache 
as if for a great misfortune. Men cannot feel it, or 
guess at it ; if they did, the most careless of them would 
he slow to wound us so.''^ 

The grave hides many a heart which has been 
stung to death, because one who might, after all, 
have loved it after a certain careless fashion, was 
deaf, dumb, and blind to the truth in the sentence 
we have just quoted, or if not, was at least restive 
and impatient with regard to it. Many men, marry- 
ing late in life, being accustomed only to take care 
of themselves, and that in the most erratic, rambling, 
exciting fashion, eating and drinking, sleeping and 
walking whenever and wherever their fancy, or good 
cheer and amusement, questionable or unquestiona- 



12 Folly as it Flies, 

ble, prompted ; come at last, wlien tliey get tired of 
tli'.s, with tlieir selfisTi habits fixed as fate, to — mat- 
rimony. For a while it is a novelty. Shortly, it 
is strange as irksome, this always being obliged to 
consider the comfort and happiness of another. To 
have something always hangiog on the arm, which 
used to swing free, or at most, but twirl a cane. Then, 
they think their duty done if they provide food and 
clothing, and refrain (possibly) from harsh words. 
Ah — is itf Listen to that sigh as you close the door. 
Watch the gradual fading of the eye, and paling of 
the cheek, not from age — she should be yet young — - 
but that gnawing pain at the heart, born of the settled 
conviction that the great hungry craving of her soul, 
as far as you are concerned, must go forever unsatis- 
fied. God help such wives, and keep them from at 
tempting to slake their souls' thirst at poisoned foun- 
tains. 

Thinh^ you, her husband, how little a kind word, a 
smile, a caress to you^ how much to her. If you call 
these things "childish" and "beneath your notice," 
then you should never have married. There are 
men who should remain forever single. You are 
one. You have no right to require of a woman her 
health, strength, time and devotion, to mock her with 
this shadowy, unsatisfying return. A new bonnet, 
a dress, a shawl, a watch, anything, everything but 
what a true woman's heart most craves — sympathy, 
appreciation, love. She may be rich in everything 
else ; but if she be poor iji these, and is a good wo- 
man, she had better die, 



A Discourse upon Husbands, 13 

There are Tiard, unloving, cold monstrosities of 
women, (rare exceptions,) who neither require love, 
nor know how to give it. We are not speaking of 
these. That big-hearted, .loving, noble men have oc- 
casionallj been thrown away upon such, does not 
disprove what we have been saying. But even a 
man thus situated has greatly the advantage of a 
woman in a similar position, because, over the needle 
a woman may think herself into an Insane Asylum, 
while the active, out-door turmoil of business life is 
at least a sometime reprieve to Mm. 

Do you ask me, "Are there no happy wives?" 
God be praised, yes, and glorious, lovable husbands, 
too, who know how to treat a woman, and would 
have her neither fool nor drudge. Almost every wife 
would be a good and happy wife, were she only loved 
enough. Let husbands, present and prospective, 
think of this. 



" Now, I am a clerk, with eight hundred dollars 
salary, and yet my wife expects me to dress her in 
first-class style. What would you advise me to do — 
leave her?" 

These words I unintentionally overheard in a pub- 
lic conveyance. I went home, pondering them over. 
" Leave her !" Were you not to blame, sir, in select- 
ing a foolish, frivolous wife, and expecting her to 
confine her desires, as a sensible woman ought, and 
would, within the limits of your small salary ? Have 
2/ow, yourself^ no " first-class " expenses, in the way of 



14 Folly as it Flies, 

rides, drinks and cigars, whicli it miglit be "well for 
you to consider while talking to lier of retrenckment ? 
Did it ever occur to yon, that under all that frivolity, 
which you admired in the maid, but deplore and 
condemn in the wife, there may be, after all, enough 
of the true woman, to appreciate and sympathize 
with a kind^ loving statement of the case, in its paren- 
tal as well as marital relations ? Did it ever occur to 
you, that if you require no more from Aer, in the 
way of self-denial, than you are willing to endure 
yourself- — in short, if you were just in this matter, as 
all husbands are not — it might bring a pair of loving 
arms about your neck, that would be a talisman 
amid future toil, and a pledge of co-operation in it, 
that would give wings to effort ? And should it not 
be so immediately — should you encounter teare and 
frowns — ^would you not do well to remember the 
hundreds of wives of drunken husbands, who, 
through the length and breadth of the land, are think- 
ing — not of " leaving " them, but how, day by day, 
they shall more patiently bear their burden, toiling 
with their own feeble hands, in a woman's restricted 
sphere of effort, to make up their deficiencies, closing 
their ears resolutely to any recital of a husband's 
failings, nor asking advice of aught save their own 
faithful, wifely hearts, " what course they shall pur- 
suer 

And to all young men, whether " clerks " or oth- 
erwise, we would say, if you marry a humming-bird, 
don't expect that marriage will instantly convert it 
into an owl ; and if you have caught it, and caged it, 



A Discourse upon Husbands, 15 

witliout tliouglit of consequences, don't, like a cow- 
ard, slirink from yonr self-assumed responsibility, 
and turn it loose in a dark wood, to be devoured by 
tbe first vulture. 



The other day I read in a paper, ^' Wanted — ^board 
for a young couple." What a pity, I thought, that 
they should begin life in so unnatural and artificial 
a manner ! What a pity that in the sacredness of a 
home of their own, they should not consecrate their 
life-long promise to walk hand in hand, for joy or for 
sorrow! What a pity that the sweet home -cares 
which sit so gracefully on the young wife and house- 
keeper, should be waved aside for the stiff etiquette 
of a public table or drawing-room ! What a pity 
that the husband should not have a "Ao?7ie" to re- 
turn to when his day's toil -is over, instead of a 
" room," as in his lonely bachelor days ! 



" Oh, you little rascalj" said a young father doub- 
ling up his fist at his first baby, as it lay kicking its 
pink toes upon the bed ; " oh^ you little rascal, precious 
little attention have I had from your mamma since 
■you cafne to town. I don't know but I am very sorry 
you are here." 

Now, this is a subject upon which I have thought 
a great " deal, and often wished I had wisdom to 
write about. It is a very nice point for a young 
wife to settle rightly — the respective claims of the 



16 Folly as. it Flies, 

helpless little baby, and tbose of tbe young biisband, 
wbo bas bitberto been tbe sole recipient of ber car- 
esses and care. Tbe cry of tbat little baby is painful 
to bim. He bas not yet adj usted bimself to tbe po- 
sition of a fatber. It is a nice little creature, of 
course ; but wby need she be so mucb in tbe nursery 
and so little in tbe parlor ? Wby can't sbe delegate 
tbe wasbing, and dressing, and getting- to -sleep, to a 
nurse, and go about witb Mm^ as sbe used before it 
came. It is very dull to sit alone, waiting until all 
tbese processes bave been gone tbrougb ; and, beside, 
it is plain to see tbat, wben be does wait till tben, ber 
vitality is so nearly exbausted tbat sbe bas very little 
left to entertain bim, or to go abroad for entertain- 
ment ; and if sbe does tbe latter, sbe is so fearful 
tbat sometbing may go wrong witb tbat experimen- 
tal first baby in ber absence, tbat ber anxiety becomes 
contagious, and Ms pleasure is spoiled. 

Now, to begin witb : it takes two years for a 
young married couple to adjust tbemselves to tbeir 
new position. " \fi^5 motber never fussed tbat way 
over her babies, and is not he a living example of tbe 
virtue of neglect?" 'Now ^^ her motber preferred to 
do just as she is doing, and tbougbt any otber course 
beartless and unnatural, at least wbile tbe baby is so 
very little." JSTow stop a bit, my dears, or you nev- 
er will get beyond tbat milestone on your journey. 
You bave got, botb of you, to drop your respective 
motbers, as far as quoting tbeir practice is concerned. 
• Kever mention tbem to one anotber, if you can pos- 
sibly keep your moutbs sbat on tbeir superior vir- 



Discourse upon Husbands. 17 

tues, wlien you wisli to settle any sucli question ; 
because it will always remain true, to the end of 
time, that a husband's relations, like the Mng, can do 
no wrong, though they may be in the constant prac- 
tice of doing that in their own families, which they 
consider highly improper in yours. 

Now, do you and John — I suppose his name is 
John — two-thirds of the men are named John, and 
the Johns are always great strapping fellows — do 
you and John just paddle your own canoe, as they 
do. It is yours, isn't it ? Well, steer it, day by 
day, by the light you have, as well as you know 
how. Mind that you both pull together ; shut down 
outside interference, which is the cause of two-thirds 
of the unhappiness of the newly married, and you 
will be certain to do well enough, at last 

When a clergyman comes to a new congregation, 
or a school-teacher to an untried school — when a new 
business partner enters a firm— nobody expects 
things to go right immediately, without a hitch or 
two, till matters adjust themselves. It is only in the 
cases of newly converted persons, or the newly mar- 
ried, that people insist upon human nature becoming 
immediately, and instantaneously, sublimated and fit 
for heaven. Now in both cases, as I take it, time 
must be given, as in the other relations, for assimila- 
tion. ^ 

This point being conceded, — and I am supposing, 
my dear reader, that you are not quite a natural fool, 
— ^why should you or the young couple consider the 
whole thing a failure, merely because this process 



18 Folly as it Flies, 

cannot be accomplished in a' daj and without a few 
mistakes, any more than in the cases above cited ? 

But we have left that little experimental first- baby 
kicking too long on the bed — ^it is time we return to 
him. Now, I am very sorry that John said what he 
did to that young mother, even "in joke." She 
knew well enough that he meant two-thirds of it. 
She is not quite strong yet either, for the baby is but 
three months old ; and it is very true that it does 
cry a great deal ; and though she don't mind it, John 
does ; and really, she can't leave it much with a 
nurse, while it is so very little. And yet, it is dull 
for John to sit alone in the' parlor while she is sooth- 
ing it ; and what shall she do ? That's just it, — 
what sAa?^ she do? She really gets in qaite a ner- 
vous tremble, when it is time for him to come home 
— what with hoping baby will be on its good behav- 
ior, and fearing that it may not Not that, for one 
instant, she has ever been sorry that she was a moth- 
er — oh no, no ! You may burn her flesh with a red- 
hot iron, and you can never make her say that God 
forbid! 

ISTow, John, if your little wife loves her baby like 
that, is not it a proof that you have chosen a wife 
wisely and well ? and are you not willing to face like 
a man — I should say, like a woman, — the petty disa- 
greeables which are consequent upon the initiatory 
life of the little creature in whose veins flows your 
own blood? Surely, you cannot answer me no. 
When you married, you did not expect to live a 
bachelor's life. If you did, then I have nothing 



Discourse upon Husbands, 19 

more to say. I shall pay that compliment to your 
manhood to suppose, that you did not so deceive the 
young girl, who trusted her fatui-e in your hands, 
and that you did not expect that she alone was to 
practice the virtue of self-abnegation. 

Well, then, be patient with the wife who is so well 
worthy of your sympathy and co-operation, in this, 
her conscientious attempt to bring up rightly the first 
baby. When the next comes, and I know you will 
have a next, or your name i^'t John, she will not 
be so anxious. She will not think it will die, every 
time it has the stomach-ache. But at present it is 
cruel in you to say those things which distress her, 
even "in joke," because, as I tell you, she is trying 
faithfully to settle these important questions, which 
take time for each of you to decide, so that you may 
not wrong the other. Help her do it. Soothe her 
when she is nervous and weary. Love that little ba- 
by, though at present it does not even smile at you. 
If you can't love it, make helieve love it^ till the little 
thing knows enough to know you. Do it for her 
sake, who has earned your tenderest cherishing as the 
mother of your child. Begin right. Know that 
whatsoever people may say, that Love and Duty are 
all there is of life. Out of these two grow all the 
pleasure and happiness mortals can find this side of 
the grave. So, John, don't wear out your boots 
trudging round elsewhere to find them, for it will be 
a miserable failure. 



20 Folly as it Flies, 

I THINK every woman will agree with me, that it 
is perfectly astonisliing the ''muss" (to use a Kew 
Yorkism) which a male pair of hands can make in 
your room in the short space of five minutes. You 
have put everything in that dainty order, without 
which you could not, for the life of you, accomplish 
any work. There is not a particle of dust on any- 
thing, in sight, or out of sight — which last is quite as 
important. All your little pet things are in the right 
location ; pictures plumb on the wall, work-box and 
ink-stand tidy and within hail. Mr. Smith comes in. 
He wants "a bit of string." Mr. Smith is always 
wanting a bit of string. Mr. Smith says kindly 
(good fellow) " don't get up, dear, I'll find it." That's 
just what you are afraid of, but it won't do to say 
so ; so you sit still and perspire, while Mr. Smith 
looks for his " bit of string." First, he throws open 
the door of the wrong closet, and knocks down all 
your dresses, which he catches up with irreverent 
haste, and hangs in a heap on the first peg. Then 
he says (innocently,) " Oh — h — I went to the wrong 
closet, didn't I?" Then he proceeds to the right 
closet, and finds the "bit of string." In taking it 
down he catches it on the neck of a phial. Down it 
comes smash — with the contents on the floor. Mr. 
Smith says " D — estruction !" in which remark you 
fully coincide. Then Mr. Smith wants a pair of scis- 
sors to cut his" bit of string ;" so he goes to your work- 
box, which he upsets, scattering needles, literally at 
" sixes and sevens," all over the floor, mixed with 
bodkins, spools, tape, and torment only knows what 



Discourse upon Htisbands, 21 

He gathers tliem up at one fell swoop, and ladles 
tliem back into tlie box, in a manner peculiarly and 
eminently masculine ; and asks if — ^tbe — hinge — of 
— the — lid — of — that — box — was — broken — before, 
or if lie did it." As if the rascal didn't know ! But 
of course you tell the old fib, that it had been loose 
for some time, and that it was no manner of conse- 
quence; all the while devoutly hoping that this 
might be the last mischance. Not a bit of it. ^' He 
thinks he will take a little brandy to set him right." 
So he uncorks the bottle on the spotless white toilet- 
cover of your bureau, spills the brandy all over it, 
powders the sugar on the covers of a nice book, and 
lays the sticky spoon on a nice lace collar that has 
just been "done up." Then he uncorks your co- 
logne-bottle to anoint his smoky whiskers, and sets 
down the bottle, leaving the cork out. Then he 
takes up your gold bracelet and tries it on his wrist, 
" to see if it will fit." The "/i^," need I say, is not in 
the bracelet — the fastening of which he breaks. 
Then he throws up the window, " to see what sort 
of a day it is;" and over goes a vase of flowers, 
which you have been arranging with all the skill 
you were mistress of, to display the perfection of each 
blossom. He looks at the vase, and says, "Misera- 
ble thing ! it was always ricketty ; I must buy you 
a better one, dear," which you devoutly hope he will 
do, though a long acquaintance with that gentleman's 
habits does not authorize you in it. Then Mr. 
Smith goes to the glass and takes a solemn survey 
of his beard. Did you ever notice the difference 



22 Folly as il Flies, 

between a man's and a woman's way of looking in 
tTie glass ? It is wonderfully cliaracteristic ! Wo- 
man perks her head on one side saucily and well 
pleased like a bird ; man strides in a lordly, digni- 
fied way up to it as if it were a very ])etty thing for 
him to do, but meantime he'd like to catch that glass 
saying that he is not a fine-looking fellow ! Well — 
Mr. Smith takes a solemn survey of his beard, which 
he fancies "needs clipping," and takes your sharpest 
and best pair of scissors, for the wiry operation : the 
stray under-brush meanwhile falling wheresoever it 
best pleases the laws of gravitation to send it. Then 
Mr. Smith, says, " Eeally, dear, this is such a pleas- 
ant room, one hates to leave it, but — alas ! business 
— business." 

" Business /"I should think so — ^business enough, 
to put that room to rights, for the next three hours 1" 



Did. you ever hear an old maid talk about matri- 
mony, or a girl who was trembling on the brink of 
old-maidism, and feared to launch away ? If there 
is anything that efiectually disgusts a married wo- 
man, it is that. What can an old maid know about 
such things ? As well might I write an agricultural 
and horticultural description of a country by looking 
on a map. What pitying compassion she has for 
married men, every one of whom is victimized be- 
cause he did not select her to make him " the hap- 
piest of men " — I believe that is the expression of a 



Discourse ttpon Husbands , 23 

lover wlieii on his suppliant knees ; if not, I stand 
ready to be corrected — by anybody but an old maid. 
With what a languishing sigh she marvels that Mrs. 
Jones could ever be so criminal, as to neglect to sew 
on an ecstatic shirt-button for such a man as Jones ; 
for whom it would be glory enough to hold a shav- 
ing-box while he piled on the soap-suds, which is her 
particular element. What a shame that Jones can- 
not stifle his own baby, if he feels like it, by smok- 
ing in its face, and leave his boots, and coat, and 
vest on the parlor floor, if he takes a fancy to 
do it. 

Ah — ^had Jones but a different wife ! (And here 
imagine a sigh which, for depth and 23ro-/iZ?2-dity, 
none but a sentimental old maid on the anxious-seat 
can heave.) What pleasure to black his boots for 
him of a morning ; to get up in the middle of the 
night, and cook a tenderloin beefsteak ; to prove 
her devotion by standing on the front doorstep, with 
chattering teeth, in a cold northeaster, waiting for 
the dear coat to come home; to hangup his dear 
hat for him, to put away his dear cane, to take him 
up gently with the sugar-tongs, and lay him on the 
sofa till tea was ready, and then feed him like a 
sweet little bird, bless his shirt-buttons ! 

How hot his toast should always be ; how strong 
his tea and coffee ; how sweet his puddings ; how 
mealy his potatoes ; how punctually his clean shirt 
should be taken out of his drawer for him to put on ; 
how sweetly his handkerchief should be cologn-ed 
with her own cologne, and his cigar-case magnani- 



24 Folly as it Flies, 

mousl J placed by lier own hands in his dear little side - 
pocket, and how it should be the study of her life to 
find out when he wanted to sneeze, and arrest a sun- 
beam for the purpose. 

Do you know what I wish ? 

That all the die-away old maids, who go sighing 
through creation with a rose-leaf to their noses, lec- 
turing married women, and sniveling for their little 
privileges, had but one neck, and that soine muscular 
coat-sleeve, equal to the occasion, would give them 
one satisfying hug, and stop their nonsense. 



I NEVEE witnessed an execution ; but I saw a man 
the other day, married he surely was, trying to select a 
lace collar from out a dainty cobweb heap, sufficient- 
ly perplexing even to a practised female eye. The 
clumsy way he poised the gauzy things on his fore- 
finger, with his head askew, trying to comprehend 
their respective merits ! The long, weary sigh he 
drew, as the shopman handed him new specimens. 
The look of relief with which he heard me inquire 
for lace collars, saying, as plain as looks could say, 
"Ah! now, thank Heaven, I shall have a woman's 
view of the subject! The disinterested manner in 
which, with this view, he pushed a stool forward for 
me to sit down, to watch upon which collar my eye 
fell complacently, all the wliile turning over his heap 
in the same idiotic way. Oh, it was funny ! Of 
course, I kept him on the anxious seat a little while, 



Discourse tipon Husbands, 25 

persistently holding my tongue, tlie better to enjoy 
his dilemma. Didn't lie fidget ? 

At length, fearful he might rush out for strych- 
nine, I spake. I descanted upon shape, and texture, 
and pattern, and upon the probability of their " do- 
ing up " well, to all of which my rueful knight lis- 
tened like a criminal who scents a reprieve. Then I 
made my selection ; then he chose two exactly like 
mine, before you could wink, and with a sublime 
gratitude, refused to let the shopman consider the 
bill that was fluttering in his gloved fingers, " till he 
had made change for the lady." We understood 
each other, for there are cases in which words are 
superfluous. No doubt his wife thought his taste in 
collars was excellent. 



Men have one virtue ; for instance : How de- 
licious is their blunt, honest frankness toward each 
other, in their every-day intercourse, (politicians ex- 
cepted,) in contrast with the polite little subterfuges, 
which form the basis of women-friendships. Yf hen 
one man goes to make a man-call on another, he 
talks when he pleases, and puts up his heels, and 
dovbt talk when he don't please. He is fi:ee to take 
a nap, or to take a book; and his host is as free, 
when he has had enough of him. or has any call 
away, to put on his hat and go out to attend to it : 
nor does the caller feel himself aggrieved. Now a 
woman's nose, under similar circumstances, would be 
2 



26 Folly as it Flies, 

up in tTie air a montli, with the " slight" her female 
friend had put upon her. The more a woman dovHt 
want her friend to stay, the more she is bound to 
urge her to do it ; and to ask her why she hadn't 
called before ; and to wish that she might never go 
away, and all that sort of thing. What she remarks 
to her husband in private about it, afterward, is a 
thing you and I have nothing to do with. When 
two men meet, after a long absence, ten to one the 
first salutation is, "Old boy, how ugly you've 
grown." In the female department we reverse this. 
" I never saw you look prettier," being the preface 
to the aside — (what a fright she has become). Then 
— ("blest be the tie that binds") — mark one man 
meet another in the street — light his cigar at that 
other's nose, and pass on — ^without knowing the im- 
portant fact, whether he lives in "a brown-stone 
front " or not. How instructive the free-and-easy- 
and-audacious-manner in which, after this ceremony, 
they go their several ways to their tombstones, with- 
out a spoken word. See them in the streets, my 
sisters, exchanging passing remarks on any object of 
momentary street-interest, looking over one another's 
shoulders at each other's " extras," all the same as 
if they had been introduced in an orthodox Grundy 
fashion. 

See them walk boldly up to a looking-glass, in a 
show window, and honestly stare at their ridiculous 
solemn selves, whereas, you women, pretend to be 
examining something else, when you are bent on a 



Discourse upon Husbands, 27 

like errand, intent on smootHng yonr ruffled feath- 
ers. 

Tlie other day, in an omnibns, a man took a seat 
near the door, and not willing to step across the 
ladies' dresses, " nndged " a man above him to hand 
np his fare. Now the nndged creature was out of 
sorts — wanted his dinner or something — and so sat 
like an image, without responding ; another nudge — 
with no better success — not a muscle of the nudged 
man's face moved. At last, with a heightened color, 
the new-comer handed it up himself; but he didnt 
talk to his next elbow-neighbor about '■^ some people 
being so disagreeable," or call him a "nasty thing ;" 
or try to look him into eternal annihilation, for what 
was really an ungracious action. He only rubbed 
his left ear a little, and piit his mind on something 
else, and he looked very well while he was doing it, 
too. 

If one woman is visiting another at her house, and 
the latter goes up stairs for anything, her female 
guest trots right after her, like a little haunting dog. 
If she goes to the closet to get her gaiters, the 
shadow follows ; she must be present when they are 
laced on ; and discusses rights and lefts, and hosiery, 
etc. When her hostess goes to the glass, to arrange 
her hair, or put on her bonnet, the shadow follows, 
leaning both arms on the toilet-table to witness the 
operation. Without this bandbox-freemason-confi- 
dence, you see at once that female-friendship could 
not be that sacred intermingling of congenial natures 



28 Folly as it Flies. 

tliat it is. Your friend would weep, sirs, and ask 
you "what she had done to be treated so." 

A mon.se and a woman ! I know one of the latter, 
who always gets upon a table if she sees either com- 
ing. Lady Mary "Wortley Montaga said a very 
witty thing once. I am afraid that not even her dis- 
covery of inoculation will cancel the sin of it. It 
was this : " The only comfort I ever had in being a 
woman is, that I can never marry one." 

The moral of all this is, that women need reform- 
ing in their intercourse with one another. There 
should be less kissing among them, and more sincer- 
ity ; less "palaver," and more reticence. But if you 
think I am going to tell them- this in person, you 
must needs suppose that I have already arranged my 
sublunary affairs in case of accident. This not be- 
ing the case, I decline the ofS.ce, except so far as I 
can fill it at a safe distance on paper. 



But then again what poor creatures are men when 
sick. 

One might smile, were it not so pitiful, so see the 
impatience with which strong, active men succumb 
to the necessity of lying a few weeks on a bed of 
sickness. The petulance which they in vain try to 
smother, at pills and potions, in place of their favor- 
ite dish, or drink, or cigar. The many orders they 
give, and countermand, in the same breath, to the 
wife and mother, who calmly accepts all this as part 
of her woman lot, and who dare not, for the life of 



Discourse upon Husbands, 29 

her, smile at tlie fuss this caged lion is making, 
because his rations are cut off for a few days. This 
*' being sick patiently," is a lesson we think man has 
yet to learn ; but it is a good thing that they are 
sometimes laid on the shelf awhile, that they may 
better appreciate the cheerful endurance with which 
the feeble wife-mother bears the household cares all 
the same — on the pillow where lies with her the 
newly -born. Pain and weakness neyer interrupt her 
constant, careful forethought for her family. Hus- 
bands are too apt to take these every-day heroisms 
as matters of course. Therefore we say again, it 
is well sometimes that their attention should be 
awakened to it, when the doctor has vetoed for them 
awhile the of&ce and the counting-room, and they 
are childishly frantic at gruel and closed blinds. 



A woman's education is generally considered to be 
finished when she is married, whereas she has only 
arrived at A B C. If husbands took half the 
thought for, or interest in, their wives' minds ^ that 
wives are obliged to take for their husbands' hocUes^ 
women would be more intelligent. A missing 
button or string is often the cause of a bitter outcry ; 
but what of the little woman who sits twiddling her 
thumbs in the presence of her husband's intelligent 
visitors, because she has not the slisfhtest idea what 
they are all talking about, and because, if she 
wouldn't mortify her husband, she must forever 
keep speechless? The intelligent husband, who. 



80 Folly as it Flies, 

from fear of jeopardizing his puddings or liis coffee, 
rests contented with this state of things, is guilty of 
an injustice toward that little woman, of which he 
ought to be heartily ashamed. True, when he mar- 
ried her this difference did not exist, or if it did, the 
glamour of youth and beauty, like a soft mist- veil 
over a landscape, hid, or clothed with loveliness, 
even defects. Because her youth and beauty have 
been uncomplainingly transmitted to his many chil- 
dren, whose little mouths must be fed, and little feet 
tended, not always by a hireling, through the long 
day ; and whose httle garments must . be often 
planned and made, when she would gladly rest, 
while they sleep : should he, who is free to read and 
think, he who, coming in contact with strong, 
reflecting minds, has left her far behind, never turn a 
loving glance back, and with his own strong hand 
and encouraging smile, beg her not to sit down 
discouraged by the wayside — slie^ who " hath done 
what she could?" It is a shame for such a man to 
put on his soul's festival-dress for everybody hut 
her who should be his soul's queen. It is a shame 
for a man to be willing so to degrade the mother and 
teacher of his children. It is a shame for him, while 
she sits sewing by his side, never to raise her 
drooping self-respect, by addressing an intelligent 
word to her about the book he is reading, or the 
subject upon which he is thinking, as he sits looking 
into the fire. I marvel and wonder at the God-like 
patience of these upper housekeepers^ or I should^ had 



Discourse upon Husbands, 31 

I not seen them dropping tears over tlie faces of 
their sleeping children, to cool their hearts. 

I want to hear no nonsense about the mental 
*' equality or inequality of the sexes." I am sick of 
it ; that is a question men always start when women 
ask ior justice^ to dodge a fair answer. They may be 
equal or unequal — that's not what I am talking 
about ISTapoleon the Third gives his dear French 
people diversions, fete days, and folly of all kinds, 
if they will only let him manage the politics. Our 
domestic Napoleons, too many of them, give flattery, 
bonnets and bracelets to women, and everything else 
hut — justice ; that question is one for them to decide, 
and many a gravestone records how it is done. 

An intelligent man sometimes satisfies his con- 
science by saying of his wife, Oh, she's a good little 
woman, but there is one chamber in my soul through 
whose window she is not tall enough to peep. Get 
her but a footstool to stand on, Mr. Selfishness, and 
^ see how quick she will leap over that window sill ! 
In short, show hut the disposition to help her, and 
some manly, loving interest in her progress, instead 
of striding on alone, as you do, in your seven league 
mental boots, without a thought of her, and take my 
word for it, if you are thus just to her, and if she 
loves you, which last, by the way, all wives would 
do, if husbands were truly just^ and you will find 
that though she has but average intellect, you will 
soon be astonished at the progress of your pupiL 

I am not unaware that there are men whom the 
tailor makes, and women who are manufactured by 



82 Folly as it Flies, 

tlie dress-maker, and that they often marry each 
other. Let such fulfill their august destiny — ^to 
dress. I know that there are women much more in- 
telligent than their husbands; let such show their 
intelligence by appearing not to know it. Still, it 
remains as I have said, that there exist the wives and 
mothers whose cause I now plead, fulfilling each 
day, not hopelessly — Qod forbid ! but sometimes 
with a sad sinking of heart, the duties which no 
true wife or mother will neglect, even under circum- 
stances rendered so disheartening by the husband 
and father, of whose praise, perhaps, the world is 
full. Let the latter see to it, that while the momen- 
tous question, " What sliall I get for dinner ?" may 
never, though the heavens should fall, evade her 
daily and earnest consideration, that he would some- 
times, by his intelligent conversation, when there is 
no company^ recognize the existence of the soul of 
this married housekeepen 



GRANDMOTHER'S GHAT ABOUT CHILDREN 
AND CHILDHOOD. 

HAT can fascinate yon in tliat ngly beast ?" 




This question was addressed to me, wMle 
"«S^^ regarding intently a camel in a collection of 
animals. " Ugly ?" To me he was poetry itself I 
was a little girl again. I was kneeling down at my 
little chair at family prayers. I didn't understand 
the prayers. " The Jews " were a sealed book to 
me then. I didn't know why "a solemn awe" 
should fall upon me either ; or what was a solemn 
awe, anyhow. For a long time, I know, tdl I was 
quite a big girl, I thought it was one word — thus, 
solemnor — owing to the rapid manner in which 
it was pronounced. Where the heathen were going 
to be " brought in," or what they were coming for, I 
didn't understand; and as to "justification," and 
sanctification," and " election," it was no use trying. 
But the walls of the pleasant room where family 
prayers were held, were papered with " a Scripture 
paper." There were great feathery palm-trees. 
There were stately females bearing pitchers on their 
heads. There were Isaac and Eebecca at the well ; 
and there were camels^ humped, bearing heavy bur- 
dens, with long flexile necks, resting under the curi- 
ous, feathery trees, with their turbaned attendants. 
2* 



34 Grandmothers Chat, 

I understood that. To be sure, the blue was, as I 
now reccollect it, sometimes on their noses as well as 
on the sky ; and the green was on their hair as well 
as on the grass ; but at the pinafore-age we are not 
hypercritical. To me it was fairy-land ; and often 
when " Amen" was said, I remained with my little 
chin in my palms, staring at my beloved camels, un- 
conscious of the breakfast that was impending, for 
our morning prayers were said on an empty stom- 
ach. 

I hear, now, the soft rustle of my mother's dress, 
as she rose after the "Amen." I see the roguish 
face of my baby brother, whose perfect beauty was 
long since hid under the coffin lid. I see the serv- 
ants, disappearing through the door that led down to 
the kitchen, whence came the fragrant odor of com- 
ing coffee. I see my mother's flowering plants in 
the window, guiltless of dust or insect, blossoming 
like her virtues and goodness, perennially. I see 
black curly heads, and flaxen curly heads, of all 
sizes, but all "curly," ranged round the breakfast 
table ; the names of many of their owners are on 
marble slabs in Mount Auburn now. 

So you understand why I " stood staring at that 
ugly beast," in the collections of animals, and think- 
ing of the changes, in all these long years, that had 
passed so swiftly ; for now I am fifty-four, if I am a 
minute. And how wonderful it was, that after such 
a lapse of time, and so thickly crowded with events, 
that this family-morning-prayer-hour should come 
up with such astonishing vividness, at sight of that 



Grandmothers Chat, 35 

camel. Oh ! I sliall always love a camel. He will 
never look " ugly " to me. I am not sorry, nor ever 
have been, that I was brought up to ''family pray- 
ers," unintelligible though they then were to me. 

I hunted up those "Jews" after I got bigger, and 
many other things, too, the names of which got 
wedged crosswise in my childish memory, and stuck 
there. They never did me any harm, that ever I 
found out. I have sent up many a prayer, both in 
joy and sorrow, since then, but not always " on my 
knees," "which was considered essential in those days. 
As to the " solemn awe," I don't understand it now 
any better than when I was a child. I can't feel it, 
in praying, any more than I should when running to 
some dear, tried friend, with a burdened heart, to 
sob my grief away there, till I grew peaceful again. 
And all this came of a CameL 



And now I am a grandmother! and here come 
the holidays again. As I look into the crowded 
toyshops, I think, how lucky for their owners that 
children will always keep on being born, and that 
every one of them will have a grandmother. Uncles, 
and aunts, and cousins, are all very well, and fathers 
and mothers are not to be despised; but a grand' 
mother^ at holiday time, is* worth them all. She 
might have given her own children crooked-necked 
squashes, and cucumbers, for dolls ; with old towels 
pinned on by way of dresses, and trusted to their 
imaginations to supply all deficiencies. But thig 



S6 Folly as it Flies, 

grandcTiild — alt I that's quite another affair. Is 
there anything good enough or costly enough for her ? 
What if she smash her little china tea-set the minute 
she gets it? What if she break her wax doll? 
What if she maim and mutilate all the animals in 
her JSToah's Ark? What if she perforate her big 
India-rubber ball with the points of the scissors? 
What if she tear the leaves from out her costly pic- 
ture books ? They have made the little dear happy, 
five minutes, at least ; and grandmother has lived 
long enough to know that five minutes of genuine 
happiness, in this world, is not to be despised. And 
that, after all, is the secret of a grandmother's indul- 
gence. It isn't a weakness, as your puckery, sour 
people pretend. Grandmother has Z^t'ecZ. She knows 
what life amounts to. She knows it is nothing but 
hrohen toys from the cradle to the grave. She knows 
that happy, chirping, radiant little creatui'e before 
her, has all this experience to go through ; and so, 
ere it comes, she watches with jealous care that no- 
thing shall defraud her of one sunbeam of childhood. 
Childhood 1 She strains her gaze far beyond that, 
away into misty womanhood. She would fain live 
to stand between her and her first inevitable woman's 
lieartache. From under her feet she wou.ld extract 
every thorn, remove every pebble. The winds that 
should blow upon her should be soft and perfumed. 
Every drojD of blood in her body, every pulse of her 
heart, cries out. Oh ! let her be happy. Alas ! with, 
all her knowledge, and notwithstanding all her 
chastening, she forgets, and ever will forget, when 



Grandmother's Chat 87 

looking at that child, that the crown comes after the 
cross. 

Broken Toys ! As I picked them np under my 
feet this morning, where they had been tossed by 
careless little fingers, I fell thinking — -just what I 
have told you. 



I wish some philosopher would tell me at what 
age a child's naughtiness really begins. I am led to 
make this remark because I am subject to the un- 
ceasing ridicule of certain persons, who shall be 
nameless, who sarcastically advise me " to practice 
what I preach." As if, to begin with, anybody ever 
did that^ from Adam's time down. You see before I 
punish, or cause to be prmished, a little child, I want 
to be sure that it hasn't got the stomach-ache ; or is 
not cutting some tooth : or has not, through the in- 
discretion, or carelessness or ignorance of those in- 
trusted with it, partaken of some indigestible mess, to 
cause its " naughtiness," as it is called. Then — I 
want those people who counsel me to such strict 
justice with a mere baby, to reflect how many times 
a day, according to this rule, they themselves ought 
to be punished for impatient, cross words ; proceeding, 
it may be, from teeth, or stomach, or head, or 
nerves ; but just as detrimental as to the results as if 
they came from meditated, adult naughtiness. 

Scruples of conscience, you see — that's it. How- 
ever, yesterday I said : Perhaps I am a little soft in 
this matter ; perhaps it is time I began. So I stif- 
fened up to it 



88 Folly as it Flies, 

" Tittikins," said I to the clierub in question, 
" don't throw your hat on the floor ; bring it to me, 
dear." 

" I san't," replied Tittikins, who has not yet com- 
passed the letter h. " I san't," — with the most trust- 
ing, bewitching little smile, as if I were only getting 
up a new play for her amusement, and immediately 
commenced singing to herself: 

"Baby bye, 
Here's a ja.y — 
Let ns -watch him, 
You and I ;" 

adding, " Didn't I sing that pretty V 

Now I ask you, was I to get up a fight with that 
dear little happy thing, just to carry my point ? I 
tell you my " government " on that occasion was a 
miserable failure ; I made up my mind, after deep 
reflection, that if it was not quite patent that a child 
was really malicious, it was best not to worry it 
with petty matters ; I made up my mind that I would 
concentrate my strength on the first lie it told, and 
be conveniently bhnd to lesser peccadilloes. This 
course is just what I get abused for. But, I stood 
over a little cof&n once, with part of my name on the 
silver plate ; and somehow it always comes between 
me and this governing business. I think I know 
what you'll reply to this ; and in order that you may 
have full justification for abusing me, I will own 
that the other day, when I said to Tittikins, *' Now, 
dear, if you put your hands inside your cup of milk. 



Grandmother s Chat, 89 

again, I must really punisli jou," that little three- 
jear-older replied, in the cliirp-est voice, " No, you 
won't ! I know better." And one day, when I really 
shut my teeth together, and with a great throb of mar- 
tyrdom, spanked the back of that dear little hand, sl:e 
fixed her great, soft, brown, unwinking eyes on me, 
and said, " I'm brave — I don't mind it !" You can 
see for yourself that this practical application of the 
story of the Spartan boy and the fox, which I had 
told her the day before, was rather unexpected. 

Tittikins has no idea of " the rule that won't work 
both ways." Not long since, she wanted my pen and 
ink, which, for obvious reasons, I declined giving. 
She acquiesced, apparently, and went on with her 
play. Shortly after, I said, " Tittikins, bring me 
that newspaper, will you?" " No," she replied, with 
Lilliputian dignity. " If you can't please me, I can't 
please you." The other day she was making an ear- 
splitting racket with some brass buttons^ in a tin box, 
when I said, " Can't you play with something else, 
dear, till I have done writing?" "But I like this 
best," she replied. " It makes my head ache, though," 
I said " You poor dear, you," said Tittikins, pat- 
ronizingly, as she threw the obnoxious plaything 
down, and rushed across the room to put her arms 
around my neck — "you poor dear, you, of tourse I 
won't do it, then." 

I have given it up ; with shame and confusion of 
face, I own that child governs me, I know her heart 
is all right ; I know there's not a grain of hadness in 
her ; I know she would die to-day, if she hadn't those 



40 Folly as it Flies, 

few flaws to keep her alive. In short, she's my 
grandchild. Isn't that enough ? 

But all this does not prevent rny giving sensi- 
ble advise to others. Now I am perfectly well 
aware, that there comes a time in the life of every 
little child, how beautiful, winning and pleasant so- 
ever it may be, when it hoists with its tiny hand the 
rebel flag of defiance to authority. You may walk 
round another way, and choose not to see it, and fan- 
cy you will have no farther trouble. You may hug 
to your heart all its sweet cunning ways, and say- — 
after all, what does it matter? it is but a child; it 
knows no better ; it will outgrow all that ; it is best 
not to notice it ; I can't bear to be harsh with it ; ^it 
will be a great deal of trouble to fight it out, should 
the child happen to be persistent : it is a matter of no 
consequence ; and such like sophistries. I say you 
may try in this way to dodge a question that has got 
some time or other to be met fair and square in the 
face ; and you may persuade yourself, all the while, 
that you are thus loving your own ease, that you are 
loving your child ; but both it and you, will at some 
future day see the terrible mistake. 

" Oh, why did my father, or my mother, let me do 
\ thus and so?" has been the anguished cry of many a 
shame-stricken man and woman whose parents reas- 
oned after this manner. 

JSTow, the point at issue between the child and 
yourself may seem trifling. It may be very early in 
its life that it is made. Perhaps scarcely past the 
baby age, it may insist, when well and healthy. 



Grandmother s Chat, 41 

upon being sung or rocked in the arms to sleep, and 
that by some one particular person. Now, you are 
perfectly sure this is unnecessary, and that it would 
be much better for the child, apart from the incon- 
venie:;ce of the practice, to be laid quietly in its bed. 
with only some trustful person to watch it. But 
you reason, it has always been used to this, ■ and I 
may have to hear it cry every night for a week before 
I can teach it. Well — and what then ? The child, 
to be good for anything, must be taught some time 
or other that it cannot gain its point by crying. "Why 
not now ? Of course it should not be placed in bed 
till it is suf&ciently weary ; nor should it be frigh- 
tened at being left in a dark room alone, or left alone 
at all, while the trial is being made. This attended 
to, if it cry — let it cry. It will be a struggle of two 
or three nights and no more ; perhaps not that ; and 
the moral lesson is learned ; after that obedience 
comes easy. 

It is a mistake to suppose, you who are so greedy 
of a child's love, that it is more attached to that 
person who indulges its every whim, than to the one 
who can firmly pronounce the monosyllable no, 
when necessary. The most brutal word I ever 
heard spoken, was from a grown man to a widowed 
mother, who belonged to that soul-destroying class 
of parents who " could never deny a child anything " 
and whose whole life had been one slavish endeavor 
to gratify his every whim without regard to her own 
preferences or inclination; and whenever you see 
such a man, you may know he had just such a 



42 Folly as it Flies, 

motlier; or, having one wiser, that her attempts at 
goverment had been neutralized by one of the don't- 
cry-dear-and-3^ou-shall-have-it fathers. It is so strange 
that parents who crave to be so fondly remembered 
by their children in after years, should be thus short- 
sighted. It is so strange, that when they desire 
next to this, that everybody else should consider 
their children supremely lovely and winning, that 
they should take so direct a method to render them 
perfectly disagreeable. Strange that they should 
never reflect that some poor wife, in the future, will 
rue the day she ever married that selfish, domineer- 
ing tyrant, now in embryo in that little boy. Strange 
that the mother of that blue-eyed little girl never 
thinks that the latter may curse her own daughter 
with that same passionate temper, which never knew 
paternal restraint. Stranger still, that parents launch- 
ing these little voyagers on the wide ocean of time, 
without chart, rudder, or compass, should, when in 
after days they suffer total shipwreck, close the doors 
of their hearts, and homes, in their shamed and sor- 
rowful faces. 



I THINK there is nothing on earth so lovely as the 
first waking of a little child in the morning. The 
gleeful, chirping voice. The bright eye. The love- 
ly rose-tint of the cheek. The perfect happiness — 
the perfect faith in aU future to-morrows ! 

"We who have lain our heads on our pillows so 
often, with great sorrows for company ; who have 



Grandmother s Chat, 43 

tossed, and turned, and writhed, and counted tlie 
lagging honrs, and prayed even for tlie briefest re- 
spite in forgetfulness ; wlio have mercifally slept at 
last, and our dead have come back to us, with their 
smiles and their love, strong enough to cover any 
shortcomings' of ours. We who have awoke in the 
morning, with a sharp shuddering cry at the awful 
reality, and closed our eyes again wearily npon the 
sweet morning light, and the song of birds, and the 
scent of flowers, every one of which have given us 
pangs keener than death ; we who have risen, and with 
a dead, dull weight at the heart, moved about me- 
chanically like one walking in sleep, through the 
gray, colorless treadmill routine of to-day, a wonder 
to ourselves ;^ — ah ! with what infinite love and pity 
do we look upon the blithe waking of the little 
child ! As it leaps trustfully into our arms, with its 
morning caress and its soft cheek to our face, how 
hard it is sometimes to keep the eyes from overflow- 
ing with the pent-up pain of the slow years. Oh, 
the sweet beguilement of that caress ! The trustful, 
lisping question, which shames us out of our tears, for 
that which tears may never bring back. The uncon- 
scious bits of wisdom stammeringly voiced, and left 
disjointed, and half expressed, in favor of some 
childish quip or prank of the moment, which makes 
us doubt whether we have most sage or most baby 
before us. The saucy little challenge "to play !" 

We play? We swallow a great sob and get 
obediently down on the carpet to " build block- 
houses ;" and when the little one laughs, as the tall 



44 Folly as- it Flies. 

structure reels, and topples, and finally falls over, and 
merrily stands tliere, showing the little white teeth, 
clapping hands, and peeping into our faces, and 
says reproachfully, " What are you thinking about ? 
Why don't you laugh?" — we thank God she has 
so long a time before she finds out that grieving 
"tfijA?/." We thank God that deep and keen as the 
child is at ' one moment, she is so ridiculously but- 
ter-fly-ish the next. * 

And then, at its bidding, we set up the chairs and 
tables in the baby-house, and locate the numerous 
families of dolls, in cradles and beds, and in parlors ; 
and answer, the mimic questions about how " live 
people " keep house ; and play " doctor," and play 
"nurse," and "play have them die," and see them 
twitched out of bed five minutes after they have de- 
parted this life, to be dressed for a party. And in spite 
of ourselves, we laugh at the absurd whimsicalities 
carried out with such adult earnestness and gravity. 

And yet there are people in the world who don't 
see a child's mission in a household ; who look upon 
it as a doll to be dressed, or an animal to be fed, or 
a nuisance to be kept out of sight as much as possi- 
ble. Heaven bless us, when no other voice or touch 
or presence can be borne, a child is often the uncon- 
scious Saviour who whispers to the troubled elements 
of the soul, "Peace, be still !" 



Has it ever happened to you that life's contrasts 
were so sharply presented, that you were smitten with 



Grandmother s Chat 45 

shamed pain at being honsed, and clad, and fed, and 
comfortable, as if yon had been guilty of a great 
wrong, or injustice, that sHonld be immediately 
wiped out. 

Soon after a deep fall of snow, when fleet horses 
were flying in all directions to the tune of merry 
bells, and the sharp, crisp air was like wine to the 
fur-robed riders, I saw a little creature, muffled to 
the tip of her pretty nose by the careful hand of love, 
led down the steps of a nice house, to a little gaily- 
painted sleigh, with cushioned seat, and pretty bells, 
and soft, warm wrappings, to take her first ride in 
the new present " Santa-Claus " had brought her. 
Three grown persons were in waiting, to see that she 
was lifted gently in, and tucked up, and her hands 
and feet comfortably bestowed, before starting on 
this, her first sleigh-ride. Her bright eyes sparkled 
with delight, her voice was merrier than the bells, 
and the bright rose of her cheek told of warmth and 
'happiness and plenty. Just three years old: and as 
far as she had ever known, life was all just like that. 
Just at that minu.te came along another little creature, 
also just three years old, and stood by the side of the 
gaily-painted little sleigh, looking at its laughing 
little occupant. Her face was blue and pinched. A 
ragged handkerchief was tied over her tangled brown 
hair. Her thin cotton dress scarce covered the little 
purple knees. Her blue, small fingers held the in- 
evitable beggar's basket, and the shawl for which 
the cold wind was contending, left her little breast 
and shoulders quite bare. And there she stood, and 



46 Folly as it Flies, 

gazed at her happier little sister. MerciM Heaven ! 
the horrible contrast, the terrible mystery of it ! Only 
three ye^rs of her sad life gone ! So much of this to 
endure ! and so much still more dreadful that " three 
years " could not yet dream o£ What had the one 
child more than the other done, that each should stand 
— one with steady, one with tottering feet — on either 
side. of that dreadful gulf, eying one another in that 
guileless, silent way, more terrible to witness than 
pen of mine can ever tell ? 

Well, the little painted sleigh slid away with its 
merry freight, and " three years old " stood still and 
looked after it. She could not comprehend, had she 
been told, the sad thoughts that sent down the 
shower of pennies from the window above on her 
little beggar's basket. But she looked up and said, 
timidly, " Thank you," with ashy, little happy smile, 
as she scrambled them up out of the snow at her feet. 
Poor, little baby ! — for she was nothing more. And 
there are hundreds just like her in New York. 
There's the pity of it. Your men beggars don't fret 
me, unless crippled. If a woman can earn an honest 
living in the face of so many society and custom- 
dragons, surely a man ought, or starve. But these 
babies — oh! it is dreadful And the more pitiful 
you are to them, the harder their lot is ; since the 
more substantial pity they excite, the more profitable 
they become to the callous wretches who live by it. 

And after all, these two little " three years old " may 
yet change places. God knows. Often I meet, in my 
walks, a lady elegantly apparelled — sometimes in 



Grandmothers Chat, 47 

her own carriage, sometimes walking — ^who once 
stood shivering at area doors, like that little owner 
of the beggar's basket — novj an honored and happj 
wife and mother. They don't all go down — down — as 
inexorable time grinds on. Still the exceptions are 
so rare, unless they are snatched away by the shelter- 
ing arms of death, or love, before pollution becomes 
indelible, that they are easily counted. 

Back comes the gay little sleigh and the rosy 
" three years old I" Now she is taken carefully into 
the house, and some warm milk prepared for her, and 
slippers are warmed for her feet, and her face cov- 
ered with kisses ; and playthings, which are legion, 
spread before her; rnd the whole house is on its 
knees, listening to her prattle, and rejoicing in her 
presence, that fills the house like the perfume of a 
sweet flower, like the warm rays of the sun, like the 
song of a bird. And the other ? Bead this from 
the daily paper : " Yesterday, a little beggar-girl, 
three years old, was run over by the street-car, at 

street, while attempting to cross, and instantly 

killed." Better so. One short pang, and all the 
suffering over. 



"Walking behind a father and his prattling child 
— a fairy little girl — the other day, I heard a bit of 
human nature. " I mean to have a tea-party," lisped 
the little thing; "a tea-party, papa." "Do you?" 
said the father; "Well, whom shall you invite?" 
" I shan't ask anybody who don't have tea at their 



48 . Folly as it Flies, 

lioTises," replied the little woman. " There's worldly 
wisdom," though we, " in pantalettes. So young and 
so calculating f We smiled — who could help it ? — 
at the little mite ; but we sighed, also. "We wpuld 
rather have heard those infantile lips say : "I shall 
ask everybody who don't have tea at their houses," — 
not as a mocking-bird or parrot would say it, as a 
lesson taught, but because it was the out-gushing of 
a warm little unspoiled heart. That child but 
echoed, probably, what she had listened to unob- 
served, from mamma's lips, on the eve of some party 
or dinner. The child who sits playing with its doll, 
be it remembered, oh mothers, is not always deaf, 
dumb, and blind to what is passing around, though 
it may seem so. The seed dropped carelessly then, 
may take root, and develop into a tree, under whose 
withering influence your every earthly hope shall 
perish. 



Sometimes one thinks what a pity children should 
ever grow up. The other day, passing through an 
entry of one of our public buildings, I saw two little 
boys, of the ages of six and eight, with their arms 
about each other's neck, exchanging kiss after kiss. 
It was such a pretty sight, in that noisy den of busi- 
ness, that one could but stop to look. The younger 
of the children, noticing this, looked up with such a 
heaven of love in his face, and said, in explanation, 
^^he is my brother /" Pity they should ever grow up, 
thought we, as we passed along. Pity that the 



Gra7zdmother s Chat, 49 

world, with, its clasMng interests of business, love, 
and politics, slionld ever come between tliem. Pitj 
that tliej should ever coldly exchange finger-tips, or, 
more wretched still, not even exchange glances. Pity 
that one should sorrow, and grieve, and hunger, and 
thirst, and yearn for sympathy, while the other should 
sleep, and eat, and drink, unmindful of his fate. 
Pity that one with meek-folded hands should pass 
into the land of silence, and no tear of repentance 
and affection fall upon his marble face from the eyes 
of his " brother." Such things have been. That 
is why we thought, pity they should ever grow up ! — ■ 
Heaven lies so near us' in our infancj.^^ 

3 




WOMEN AND THEIR DISCONTENTS. 



GENTLEMAN" asked me tlie otLer day, 
" Wliy are tlie women of the present day so 
discontented with, their lot?" Kow there 
was no denying the fact, staring, as it does, from every 
page of " women's books," peeping out under the flim- 
sy veil of a jest in their, conversation, or boldly chal- 
lenging your attention in some rasping sarcasm, ac-- 
cording to the taste or humor of the writer or speaker. 
" Men canH be such devils as these women seem to 
suppose," said a gentleman anxious for the credit of 
his sex ; " and women ought to be able to fulfill the 
duties of wives and mothers without such constant 
complaint. Now my grandmother " — ^Here I laid a 
finger on his lip. Do you know, said I, that you 
have this very minute, to use a slang phrase — unla- 
dylike, perhaps, but expressive — do you know that 
you have this very minute "put your foot in it?" 
Do you know that if there is anything in the world 
that makes a woman discontented and discouraged, 
it is to have some piece of ossified female perfection, 
in the shape of a relative, held up to her imitation 
by her husband — some woman, with chalk and 
water in her veins, instead of blood, who is " good " 
merely because she \s ijetrifiedf Now, how would a 



Folly as it Flies, 51 

man like his wife constantly to remind him of the 
very superior manner in which her grandfather con- 
ducted his business matters ? how superior to his 
was his way of book-keeping, and of managing his 
various clerks and subordinates? how like clock- 
work he always arranged everything? — and suppose 
she says this, too, at moments when her husband 
had done his very best to be true to his duties. I 
wonder how long before he would exclaim, Oh ! 
bother your grandfather ; he did business Ms way, 
and I shall do my business mine. 

Now you see how I have lost patience, as well as 
what I' was going to say, ^by the vision of your 
grandmother, sir. What I was going to remark 
when you interrupted me, was this: that, in my 
opinion, the root of all this discontent is the prevail- 
ing physical inability of women to face the inevitable 
cares and duties of married life. Added to this, the 
want of magnanimity and wTiwisdom that men show,. 
in lifting the eyebrow of indifference, or ill-disguised 
vexation, when the very fragility they fell in love 
with, staggers and falls under the burdens of life. 
Now were these husbands about to possess a horse, 
they would consider first whether they wanted a 
farm-horse or a fancy horse — a working animal or 
an oniamentah one. Having chosen the latter, they 
would be very careful to choose a carriage of light 
weight for it to draw, and not finding one suf&ciently 
light, would be very apt to have one manufactured 
on purpose, rather than run the risk of overtasking 
the animal's powers. They would treat him care- 



52 Women and their Discontents, 

fully, fijed him well, see tliat lie rested sufficiently 
when weary ; pat him, coax him, instead of lashing 
and goading him, when, for some unknown reason, 
his steps seemed to falter. Now is a man's wife of 
less consequence than his horse ? Is it less neces- 
sary he should stop to consider, before he marries 
her, why he wants her? and having settled that 
question, make his choice accordingly, after haying 
also considered what means. are at his disposal to 
carry out his intentions as to their mutual comfort ? 
In old times, many men married only to get their 
butter churned, their cheese made, their clothes mend- 
ed, and their meals prepared, their wives raising pigs 
and children in the intervals. By this humanitarian 
process, all that was left of a wife at thirty, was a 
horn-comb, inserted in six hairs, on the top of her 
head, and a figure resembling the letter G. The 
men of the present day seemed to have learned no 
better how to husband their wives. Their eye is 
caught by a pretty pink-and-white creature, who 
steps about gracefully and gleefully in her father's 
comfortable, well-appointed house. They never 
consider has she good health? Will she mahe a 
healthy Mother f nor the good sense to turn resolutely 
away, and say, it would be cruelty in me to take her 
feeble prettiness from that warmly lined nest, to a 
home in the performance of whose duties she would 
inevitably break down. Nor do they say, when 
they have made the irretrievable mistake of marry- 
ing her, and find this weary, discouraged little 
woman crying over it, " Poor child, I ought to have 



Folly as it Flies, 53 

foreseen all this, but as I didn't, I must love and 
comfort you all the more." ISTot a bit of it. The 
more they have been to blame, the more they blame 
Aer, and point with exacting finger to that horrid, 
stereotyped piece of perfection, *' my grandmother." 
Then they prate to her. about patience — " Job's 
patience." Now if there is a proverb that needs 
re-vamping, it is " The 'patience of Joh.''' In the first 
place. Job wasnH patient. Like all the rest of his 
sex, from that day to the present, he could be heroic 
only for a little while at a time. He leg an bravely ; 
but ended, as most of them do under annoyance, by 
cursing and swearing. Patient as Job! Did Job 
ever try, when he was hungry, to eat shad with a 
frisky baby in his lap ? Did Job ever, after nursing 
one all night, and upon taking his seat at the break- 
fast-table the morning after, pour out coffee for six 
people, and second cups after that, before he had a 
chance to take a mouthful himself? Pshaw ! I've 
no patience with "Job's patience." It is of no use 
to multiply instances ; but there's not a faithful 
house-mother in the land who does not out-distance 
him in the sight of men and angels, every hour in 
the twenty-four. 

Think of the case of our farmers' wives. Kow, 
just consider it a little. Next to being a minister's 
wife, I think I should dread being the wife of a 
farmer. Sometimes, indeed, the terms are synony- 
mous. Eaising children and chickens, ad infinitum ; 
making butter, cheese, bread, and the national and 
omnipresent pie ; cutting, making and mending the 



^ 



54 Women and their Discontents. 

clothes for a whole houseliold, not to speak of doing 
tlieir -washing and ironing ; taking care of the pigs 
and the vegetable garden ; making winter-apple 
sauce by the barrel, and pickling myriads of cucum- 
bers ; drying fruits and herbs ; putting all the twins 
through the measles, whooping-cough, mumps, 
scarlet-feyer and chicken-pox ; besides keeping a 
perpetual river of hot grease on the kitchen table, in 
which is to float potatoes, carrots, onions and turnips 
for the ravenous maws of the "farm-hands." 

ISTo wonder that the poor things look harassed, 
jaded and toil-worn, long before they arrive at mid- 
dle age. ISTo wonder that a life so hard and angular, 
should obliterate all the graces of femininity — when 
no margin is left, year after year, for those little 
refinements which a woman under any pressure of 
circumstances, naturally and rightly desires, and 
lacking which, she is inevitably unhappy and 
coarsened. 

ISTow your farmer is a round, stalwart, comfortable 
animal. There is no baby wailing at Ms pantaloons 
while he ploughs or makes fences. He lies down un- 
der the nearest tree and rests, or sleeps, when he can 
no longer work with profit. He comes in to his 
dinner with the appetite of a hyena, and the diges- 
tion of a rhinoceros, and goes forth again to the hay- 
field till called home to supper. There is his wife, 
and too often with the same frowsy head with which 
she rose in the morning, darting hither and thither 
for whatever is wanted, or helping the hungry, 
children or the farm-hands. After the supper is 



%. 



Folly as it Flies, 55 

finished come the dish-wasliing, and milking, and 
the thought for to-morrow's breakfast ; and then 
perhaps all night she sleeps with one eye open for a 
baby or a sick child, and rises again to pursue the 
same unrelieved, treadmill, wearing round, the next* 
daj. 

JSTow the uppermost idea in the minds of too many 
farmers is, lioio to get the greatest possible amount of 
ivorh out of their wives. A poorer policy than this 
can scarcely be. They treat their cattle better. If 
they are about to be presented with a fine calf or 
colt, they take pains that the prospective mother is 
well cared for, both before and after the event. The 
farmer who would not do this would be considered 
extremely short-sighted. Their cattle are not al- 
lowed to be overworked, or underfed, or abused in 
any way. Now, pray, is not a farmer's wife as 
valuable an animal as a cow. or a horse, even look- 
ing at the practical side of it ? Is it not as important 
to have a sound, healthy mother of children, as to 
have a healthy mare or cow ? You may say that no 
woman should marry a farmer, who does not expect 
to worh. I say, in reply, that woman was never in- 
tended to split or carry wood, or to carry heavy pails 
or buckets of water. And yet how many farmers 
can we count who ever think of the women of the 
house, in regard to the distance or proximity of the 
wood or the water to the kitchen? while too many 
grudge to these overworked women that labor-saving 
apparatus in every department of their work, which 
would prolong their lives years, to a family of grow- 



56 Folly as it Flies, 

ing cTiilclren. Then, to grudge sucli an industrious 
wife decent raiment, wlierewith to make herself and 
her children neat and comfortable, is a shame. To 
oblige such a woman to plead like a beggar for the 
•dollar she has earned a thousand times over in any 
family hut Ms ^own^ should make him blush. Look 
at our farmers' wives all over the land, and see if, 
with rare exceptions, their toil-worn, harassed faces 
do not indorse my statement. Every mother should 
have time to talk with her children — ^to acquaint her- 
self with their souls as well as their bodies — to do 
something besides wash their faces and clothes. 
And how are these hurried, weary women to find 
it? Of what avail is it to those children who come 
wp^ but who' are not hr ought up^ that another meadow, 
or another barn, is added to the family inheritance, 
when the grass waves over the mother's tombstone 
before their childhood and youth is past ? or when 
they can remember her only as a fretted, querulous, 
care-burdened, o^er-tasked creature, who was always 
jostling them out of the way to catch up some bur- 
den which she dare not drop, though she drop by 
the way herself 



Sunday, "the Day of Kest," so called, to many 
mothers of families, is the most toilsome day of the 
whole week. Children, too young to go to church, 
must of course be cared for at home ; domestics on 
that day, of all others, expect their liberty. The fa- 
ther of the family, also, in many cases, thinks it hard 



Women and their Discontents, 57 

if, after a week's labor, lie too cannot roam without 
his family ; never remembering that Ms wife, for the 
same reason, needs rest equally with himself, instead 
of shouldering on that day a double burden. Weary 
with family cares, she remembers the good word of 
cheer to which she has in days gone by listened from 
some clergyman, not too library-read to remember 
that he was human. The good, sympathetic word 
that sent her home strengthened for another week's 
duties. The good word, which men think they can 
do without ; but which women, with the petty be-lit- 
tling every day annoyances of their monotonous life, 
long for, as does a tired child to lay its head on its 
mother's breast. A mother may feel thus and yet 
have no desire to evade the responsible duties of her 
office. Indeed, had she not often her oratory in her 
own heart, she would sink discouraged oftener than 
she does, lacking the human sympathy which is 
often with eld by those upon whom she has the near- 
est claim for it To such a woman it is Dot a mere 
form to "go to church;" it is not to her a fashion 
exchange ; she really desires the spiritual help she 
seelcs. You may find nothing in the words that 
come to her like the cool hand on the fevered brow. 
The psalm which is discord to your eai?, may soothe 
her, like a mother's murmured lullaby. The prayer, 
which to you is an offence, brings her face to face 
with One who is touched by our infirmitieSo If an 
" undevout astronomer is mad," it seems to me that 
an imdevout woman is still more so. Our insane 
asylums a??e full of women, who, leaning oq. sorne hij,? 



58 Folly as it Flies. 

man heart for love and sjmpatliy, and meeting only 
misappreciation, have gone there, past the Cross, 
where alone they could have laid down bnrdens too 
heavy to bear nn shared. A great book is unwritten 
on this theme. When men become less gross and 
nnspiritual than they now are, they will see the 
great wrong of which they are guilty, in their impa- 
tience of women's keenest sufferings because they 
' ' are only mental. ' ' 



Ladies, many of you attempt too much. I am 
convinced that there are times in everybody's 
experience when there is so much to be done, 
that the only way to do it is to sit down and do no- 
thing. This sounds paradoxical, but it is not. For 
instance: the overtasked mother of a family, in 
moderate circumstances, who must be brains, hands, 
stomach and feet for a dozen little children, and 
their father, who counts full another dozen. Do the 
best she may, plan the wisest she may, her work ac- 
cumulates fearfully on her hands. One day's labor 
laps over on the next, till she cannot sleep at night for 
fear she shall oversleep in the morning. And though 
she works hard all day, and gives herself no relaxa- 
tion, she cannot see any result at the close, save that 
she " hath done what she could." Of course you say, 
let her be satisfied with that, and not worry about 
it. That is only another proof how easy it is for 
some people to bear the troubles of oilier people. 
Suppose her nervous system has been strained to the 



Women and their Discontents, 59 

utmost, so that every step is a weariness, and every 
fresK and unexpected demand sets her " all of a 
tremble," as women express it, what is the use of 
reasoning then about not working ? The more she 
can't work, the more she will try to, till she drops in 
her tracks, unless, catching sight of her prospective 
coffin, she stops in time. Kow there are self-sacri- 
ficing mothers who need somebody to say to them, 
"Stop ! you have just to make your choice now, be- 
tween death and life. You have expended all the 
strength you have on hand — and must lay in a new 
stock before any more work can be done by yon. So 
don't go near your kitchen ; if your cook goes to 
sleep in the sink on washing-day, let her ; if your 
chambermaid spends the most of her time on iron- 
ing-day with the grocer-boy in the area, don't you 
know anything about it. Get right into bed, and lie 
there, just as a man would do if he didn't feel one 
quarter as bad as you do ; and ring every bell in the 
house, every five minutes, for everything you want, 
or think you want ; and my word for it, the world 
will keep on going round just the same, as if you 
were spinning a spasmodic tee-totum, as hens do, 
long after their heads have been cut oflP. Yes — just 
lie there till you get rested ; and they all find out, 
by picking up the burdens you have dropped, what a 
load you have been uncomplainingly shouldering. 
Yes — just lie there; and tell them to bring you 
something nice to eat and drink — ^yes, drink ; and 
forbid, under dreadful penalties, anybody asking 
you what the family are to have for dinner. Let 



60 Folly as it Flies, 

them eat what thej like, so that they don't troiible 
you, and season it to their tastes ; and here's hoping 
it will do them good. 

And now having located you comfortably under 
the quilt, out of harm's way, let me tell you that if 
you think you are doing God service, or anybody 
else, by using up a year's strength in a week, you 
have made a sinful mistake. I don't care anything 
about that basket of unmended stockings, or unmade 
pinafores, or any other nursery nightmare which 
haunts the dreams of these "Martha" mothers. 
You have but one life to live, that's plain ; and when 
you are dead, all the king's men can't make you 
stand on your feet again, that's plain. Well, then 
— don't be dead. In theiirst place, go out a part of 
every day, rain or shine, for the fresh air, and don't tell 
me you can't ; at least not while you can stop to em- 
broider your children's clothes. As to ' ' dressing to 
go out," don't dress. If you are clean and whole, that's 
enough ; have boots with elastics at the side, instead 
of those long mile Balmorals that take so long to 
"lace up," — in" short, simplify your dressing^ and then 
stop every wheel in the house if necessary in order 
to go out, but go ; fifteen minutes is better than no- 
thing ; if you can't get out in the day-time, run out 
in the evening ; and if your husband can't see the 
necessity of it, perhaps he will on reflection after you 
have gone out. The moral of all which is, that if 
nobody else will take care of you, you must just 
take care of yourself. As to the children — I might 
write a long book on this head, or those heads, bless 



Women and their Discontents, 61 

'em ! They can't lielp being born, poor things, 
though they often get slapped for that, and nothing 
else, as far as I can see. It is a pity you hadn't three 
instead of six, so that the care of them might 
be a pleasure instead of a weariness ; but " that's 
none of my business," as people say after they have 
been unusually meddlesome and impertinent. Still 
I repeat it, 1 wish you had three instead of six, and 
I don't care if you do go and tell John. 



WoME]^ can relieve their minds, now-a-days, in 
one way that was formerly denied them : they 
can write ! a woman who wrote, used to be consid- 
ered a sort of monster — At this day it is difficult to 
find one who does not write, or has not written, or 
who has not, at least, a strong desire to do so. Grid- 
irons and darning-needles are getting monotonous. 
A part of their time the women of to-day are con- 
tent to devote to their consideration when necessary ; 
but you will rarely find one — at least among women 
who tliirik — who does not silently rebel against allow- 
ing them a monopoly. 

What ? you inquire, would you encourage, in the 
present overcrowded state of the literary market, 
any more women scribblers ? Stop a bit. It does 
not follow that she should wish or seek to give to 
the world what she has written. I look around and 
see innumerable women, to whose barren, loveless 
life this would be improvement and solace, and I say 
to them, write ! Write, if it will make that life 



62 Folly as it Flies, 

brigliter, or happier, or less monotonous. Write! it will 
be a safe outlet for though te and feelings, that majbe 
the nearest friend yoa have, has never dreamed had 
place in your heart and brain. You should have 
read the letters I have received; jou should have 
talked with the women I have talked with ; in short, 
you should have walked this earth with your eyes 
open, instead of shut, as far as its women are con- 
cerned, to indorse this advica Nor do I qualify 
what I have said on account of social position, or 
age, or even education. It is not safe for the women 
of 1868 to shut down so much that cries out for sym- 
pathy and expression, because life is such a mael- 
strom of business or folly, or both, that. those to 
whom they have bound themselves, body and soul, 
recognize only the needs of the former. Lei them 
write if they will. One of these days, when that 
diary is found, when the hand that penned it shall 
be dust, with what amazement and remorse will 
many a husband, or father, exclaim, I never knew 
my wife, or my child, till this moment ; all these 
years she has sat by my hearth, and slumbered by 
my side, and I have been a stranger to her. And 
you sit there, and you read sentence after sentence, 
and recall the day, the month, the week, when she 
moved calmly, and you thought happily, or, at least, 
contentedly, about the house, all the while her heart 
was aching, when a kind word from you, or even a 
touch of your hand upon her head, as you passed out 
to business, or pleasure, would have cheered her, oh 
so much I When had you sat down by her side after 



Women and their Discontents, 63 

tlie day's work for botli was over, and talked with 
her just a few moments of something besides the price 
of groceries, and the number of shoes Tommy had 
kicked out, all of which, proper and necessary in 
their place, need not of necessity form the stable 
of conversation between a married pair; had you 
done this ; had you recognized that she had a soul 
as well as yourself, how much sunshine you might 
have thrown over her colorless life ! 

" Perhaps, sir," you reply; "but I have left my 
wife far behind in the region of thought. It wo aid 
only distress her to do this !" How do you know 
that ? And if it were so, ara you content to leave 
her — the mother of your children— so far behind? 
Ouglit you to do it? Should you not, by raising 
the self-respect you have well nigh crushed by your 
indifference and neglect, extend a manly hand to her 
help? / think so. The pink cheeks which first 
won you may have faded, but remember that it was 
in your service, when you quietly accept the fact that 
"you have left your wife far behind you in mental 
improvement." Oh ! it is pitiable this growing apart 
of man and wife, for lack of a little generous consider- 
ation and magnanimity ! It is pitiable to see a hus- 
band without a thought that he might and should 
occasionally, have given his wife a lift out of the 
petty, harrowing details of her woman's life, turn 
from her, in company, to address his conversation to 
some woman who, happier than she, has had time 
and opportunity for mental culture. You do not 
see, sir — ^you will not see — ^you do not desire to see. 



64: Folly as it Flies, 

how her cheek flushes, and her eye moLstens, and 
her heart sinks hke lead as you thus wound her self- 
respect. You think her "cross and ill-natured," if 
when, the next morning, you converse with her on 
the price of butter, she answers you listlessly and 
with a total want of interest in the treadmill-subject. 
I say to such women : Write ! Eescue a part of 
each week at least for reading, and putting down on 
paper, for your own private benefit, your thoughts 
and feelings. Not for the world^s eye, unless you 
choose, but to lift yourselves out the dead-level of 
your lives ; to keep off inanition ; to lessen the num- 
ber who are yearly added to our lunatic asylums 
from the ranks of misappreciated, unhappy woman- 
hood, narrowed by lives made up of details. Fight 
it! oppose it, for your own sakes and your chil- 
dren's ! Do not be mentally annihilated by it. It is 
all very well to sneer at this and raise the old cry of 
"a woman's sphere being home" — which, by the 
way, you hear oftenest from men whose home is only 
a place to feed and sleep in. You might as well say 
that a man's sphere is his shop or his counting-room. 
How: many of them, think you, would be contented, 
year in and year out, to eat, drink, and sleep as well 
as to transact business there, and never desire or take^ 
at all costs, some let-up from its monotonous grind ? 
How many would like to forego the walk to and from 
the place of business ? forego the opportunities for 
conversation, which chance thus throws in their way, 
with other men bent on the same or other errands ? 
Have, literally, no variety in their lives ? Oh, if you 



Women and tkeir Discontents, 65 

could be a woman but one year and try it ! A wo- 
man — but not necessarily a butterfly — not necessa- 
rily a machine, wbicb, once woilnd u.p by tbe mar- 
riage ceremony, is expected to click on with undevi- 
ating monotony till Death stops the hands. 



. I am often asked the question, " Do I believe that 
women should vote?" Most assuredly. I am heart 
and soul with the women-speakers and lec- 
turers, and workers in public and private, who 
are trying to bring this thing about. I have heard 
sfnd read all the pros and cons on this subject; 
and I have never yet heard, or read, any argu- 
ment in its (iisfavor, which is worth considering 
by whomsoever uttered, or written. Everything 
must have a beginning, and no noble enterprise was 
ever yet undertaken that did not find its objectors 
and assailants. That is to be expected. These wo- 
men-pioneers are prepared for this. It is not pleas- 
ant, to be sure, to see those men in their audiences, 
who should give them a hearty, manly support, mak- 
ing flippant, foolish, shallow remarks on the subject; 
or thanking God that their wives and daughters are 
not "mixed up in it." Meantime their wives and 
daughters may be ''mixed up " in many things much 
less to their credit, and much more to the detriment 
of their relations as mothers and wives. And when 
I hear a woman making fun of this subject, or lan- 
guidly declaring that, for her part, she wouldn't give 
a fig to vote, and she is only glad enough to be rid 



QQ Folly as it Flies, 

of tlie wliole bothering tMng, I feel only pitj, that 
in this glorious year of onr Lord, 1869, she should 
still prefer going back to the dark ages. I feel only, 
pity, that, torpidly and selfishly content with her 
ribbons and dresses, she may never see or think of 
those other women, who may be lifted out of their 
wretched condition, of low wages and starvation, by 
this very lever of power. 

As to the principal objection urged against vot- 
ing, I think a woman may vote and yet be a refined, 
and lady -like, and intelligent person, and worthy of 
all respect from those who hold womanhood in the 
highest estimation. I think she may go to the bal- 
lot-box without receiving contamination, just as I 
believe that she may walk in the public thorough- 
fares, and pass the most- desperate characters, of both 
sexes, without a spot on her spiritual raiment. ISTay,' 
more — I believe that through her the ballot-box is to 
become regenerated. Nor do I believe that any 
man, educated or uneducated, unless under the influ- 
ence of liquor, would in any way make that errand 
a disagreeable one to her. You tell me, but they are 
under that influence more or less on election day. 
Yery well — the remedy for that is in closing the 
liquor-shops till it is over. 

As to women " voting as their husbands tell them," 
I have my own opinion, which I think results would 
prove to be correct. I think, for instance, that no 
wife of a drunkard would vote that any drunkard 
should hold of&ce, howsoever her husband himself 
might vote, or tell her to vote. Then, why is it any 



Women and their Discontents, 67 

worse for a woman "to vote as she is bid," than for 
an ignorant male voter to vote as lie is bid. And as 
to the "soil and stain on woman's purity," whicli 
timiditj, and conservatism, and selfisbness insists 
sball follow tbe act, it might be well, in answer, to 
draw aside the veil from, many homes in New York, 
not in the vicinity of the Five Points either, where 
long-suffering, "uncomplaining wives and mothers, en- 
dure a defilement and brutality on legal compulsion, 
to which this, at the worst estimate ever made by its 
opponents, would be spotlessness itself No — ^no. 
Not one, or all of these reasons together, is the true 
reason for this opposition; and what is more, not 
one, or all of these reasons together, will eventually 
prevent women from having the franchise. It is 
only a question of time; that's one comfort. 




WOMEN AND SOME OF THEIB MISTAKES, 



UT, then, it is not altogetlier the fault of 
men, that women have so poor a time in 
this world. 

If I had a boy, mj chief aim wonld be to make 
him yield to his sisters. Why ? Because so many 
boys have been tanght a contrary lesson ; their sel- 
fishness every day growing stronger and stronger, till 
the day when they marry some woman, who is 
expected to " fall into line " — toes out, head erect, 
shoulders squared — at the word of command, like 
their sisters. It is a very common thing to hear a 
mother say to her daughters, you must do this, or 
that, or omit doing this, or that, or some day you 
will cause the unhappiness of the man you marry. 
When was a parent ever known to say this to a hoy 
about his future wife? The idea, I have no doubt, 
would be considered quite ludicrous. But I have 
yet to learn why it is not as necessary in one case as 
in the other. Now, to oblige the girls of a family 
to be punctual to their meals, on penalty of displeas- 
ure, and cold food, and to save a warm breakfast for 
the hoy^ whenever he chooses to lie in bed an hour 
or two later than the rest of the family, is making a 



Women and their Mistakes, 69 

fatal mistakej so far as the boj is concerned, and 
educating a selfish husband for some unfortunate 
girl who may be entrapped by him. Then this 
foolish mother will be the very first to lament to her 
circle of sympathizing friends, that "Aer John" 
should hav^e married a woman who is so exacting 
and unyielding. Then^ these sisters will mourn 
publicly that dear " John " should have made such 
a terrible matrimonial blunder as to marry a woman 
who was not enamored of mending his stockings 
every evening in the week, which he spent out doors, 
in any kind of amusement that the whim of the 
hour suggested. Then — aunts, and cousins, and 
uncles, of the hundredth degree, ivill join and swell 
the chorus, till " dear John," if he has not sense 
enough to see the discrepancy between their preach- 
ing and theu' practice, as exemplified in their exac- 
tions towards their own husbands, will believe him- 
self entitled to honorable mention in "Fox's Book 
of Martyrs." 

The evil, I have said, hegins with the boy's home 
education. " Sister " must mend his gloves and 
stockings, and alter his shirts, whenever he wishes ; 
but " brother " may altogether decline waiting upon 
his sisters to evening visits, or amusements, in favor 
of other ladies, or may, in any other way, show his 
utter selfishness and disregard of their natural claims 
upon him. 

This is all wrong, and boys so brought up must of 
necessity resist, when matrimony presents any other 



70 Folly as it Flies, 

side of tlie question than that of blind, unswerving 
obedience. 

ISTow, imagine this selfishness intensified a thou- 
sand fold bj solitary years of bachelorhood, and you 
have a creature to whom "The Happy Family" 
would forever be a myth. 

Perhaps you think that I imagine selfishness to be 
peculiarly the vice of the other sex. Not at all. 
There are women who are most disgustingly selfish ; 
wives and mothers unworthy both these titles ; but 
I shall find you ten selfish husbands to one selfish 
wife, and therefore I call the attention of parents to 
this part of their sons' education. If half the admo- 
nitions bestowed so lavishly upon girls were ad- 
dressed to theu' brothers, the family estate and the 
public would be the gainers. 

There is one class of women that in my opinion 
need extinguishing. I think I hear some male voice 
exclaim. One f I wisli there were not a great many ! 
Sir ! know that the foolishest woman who was ever 
born is better than most men ; but I am not treating 
of that branch of the subject now. As I was about 
to remark, there is a class of sentimental women 
who use up the whole dictionary in speaking 
of a pin, and circumlocute about the alphabet in 
such a way, every time they open their mincing lips, 
that nobody but themselves can know Avhat they 
are talking about, and truth to say, I should have 
been safe not to admit even that exception. Their 
" she-iy " must always be heavenly " hle-u ;" to touch 
household matters with so much as the end of 



Women and their Mistakes, 71 

a taper finger would be beneneatli tliem," and that 
though Astor may have considerable more money 
in the bank than themselves. To sweep, to dust, to 
make a bed, to look into a kitchen-closet, to superin- 
tend a dinner — was a woman made for that ? they 
indignantly exclaim. Now, while I as indignantly 
deny that she was born with a gridiron round her 
neck, I repudiate the idea that any one of these 
duties is beneath any woman, if it be necessary or 
best that she should perform them. I could count 
yon a dozen women on my fingers' ends, whom the 
reading world has delighted to honor, who held no 
such flimsy, sickly, hot-house views as these. Be- 
cause a woman can appreciate a good book, or even 
write one, or talk or think intelligently, is she 
not to be a breezy, stirring, wide-awake, efficient 
thorough, capable housekeeper? Is she not to be a 
soulful wife and a loving, judicious mother ? Is she 
to disdain to comb a little tumbled head, or to wash 
a pair of sticky little paws, or to mend a rent in a 
pinafore or little pair of trousers ? I tell you there's 
a false ring 'about women who talk that way. ISTo 
woman of true intellect ever felt such duties heneath 
her. She may like much better to read an interest- 
ing book, or write out her own thoughts when she 
feels the inspiration, than to be much employed this 
way, but she will never, never disdain it, and she 
will faithfully stand at her post if there can be no 
responsible relief-guard You will never find her 
sentimentally whining about moonshine, while her 
neglected children are running loose in the neighbors' 



72 Folly as it Flies, 

houses, or through, the streets. You may be sure 
she is the wrong sort of woman who does this ; she 
has neither head enough to attain to that which she 
is counterfeiting, nor heart enough really to care for 
the children she has so thoughtlessly launched upon 
the troubled sea of life. I sincerely believe that 
there are few women with a desire for intellectual 
improvement, who cannot secure it if they will. To 
be honest, they find plenty of time to put no end of 
embroidery on their children's clothes ; plenty of 
time to keep up the neck-and-neck race of fashion, 
though it may be in thu'd-rate imitations. They 
will sit up till midnight, but they will trim a dress 
or bonnet in the latest style, if they cannot hire it 
done, when the same energy would, if they felt in- 
clined, furnish the inside of their heads much more 
profitably ; for mark you, these women who are 
above household cares will run their feet off to match 
a trimming, or chase down a coveted color in a rib- 
bon. That isn't " belittling I" That isn't " trivial !" 
That isn't " beneath them I" 

It is very funny how such women will fancy they 
are recommending themselves by this kind of talk, 
to persons whose approbation they sometimes seek. 
If they only knew what a sensible, rational person 
may be thinking about while they are patiently but 
politely listening to such befogged nonsense ; how 
pity is dominant. where they suppose admiration to 
be the while; how the listener longs to break out 
and say, My dear woman, /have washed and ironed, 
and baked and brewed, and swept and dusted, and 



Women atid their Mistakes, 73 

washed children, and made bonnets, and cut and 
made dresses, and mended old coats, and cleaned 
house, and made carpets, and nailed them down, and 
cleaned windows, and washed dishes, and tended 
the door-bell, and done every " menial " thing you 
can think of, when it came to me to do, and I'm 
none the worse for it, though perhaps you would 
not have complimented my *' intellect," as you call 
it, had you known it. Lord bless me! there's no- 
thing like one's own hands and feet. Bells are very- 
good institutions when one is sick, but I never found 
that person who, when I had the use of my feet, 
could do a thing as quick as myself, and as a general 
thing the more you pay them the slower they 
move ; and as I'm of the comet order, I quite for- 
get it is " heneath me " to do things, till I've done 
them. So you see, after all, so far as I am con- 
cerned, it is no great credit to me, although it is very 
shocking to know that a woman who writes isn't al- 
ways dressed in sky blue, and employed in smelling 
a violet. 



Then there is another subject to which I wish 
women would give a little consideration ; and that is 
the reason for the decline of the good old-fashioned 
hospitality. I think the abolition of the good old 
" tea " of our ancestors has a great deal to do with it, 
and the prevalent and absurd idea that hospitality is 
not hospitality, unless indorsed by a French cook, 
and a brown-stone front. Now, dinner takes the 
4 



74 Folly as it Flies, 

place of tliis meal. Dinner ! wliicli involves half a 
dozen courses, with dessert and wines to match. That 
is an affair which requires the close supervision of 
the wife and mother of the family, even though she 
may have a cook well-skilled, and attendants well- 
drilled. Now, as most American wives and mothers, 
have about as much strain on their vitality from day 
to day as they can possibly, with their fragill" consti- 
tutions, endure, they naturally prefer as few of these 
domestic upheavings as they can get along with, and 
retain their social footing ; nor for one do I blame 
them for this. The blame, is in a system which sub- 
ordinates everything lovely and desirable in the way 
of hospitality, to the coarse pleasures of show and 
gluttony. Who shall be the bold lady pioneer of re- 
form in this matter ? 

Certainly, ladies have a personal interest in abol- 
ishing this state of things, when gentlemei)'s dinner- 
parties, including half a dozen invitations, to the 
exclusion of every lady, except the hostess, are be- 
coming so common. Make your dinners more sim- 
ple, fair dames, and make your dress as simple as 
your dinners. Restore in this way the power to in- 
vite your friends oftener, and let your and your 
husband's invitations to dinner, include gentlemen 
and their ivives. If the latter are fools, they will not 
become less so by being excluded from rational con- 
versation. If they are not fools, it is an outrage to 
treat them as if they were. It would be useless, 
of course, to hint that dinner had better be at 
midday. Fashion would turn up her nose at the 



Women and their Mistakes, 75 

idea. And yet you know very well that that is the 
natural and most wholesome time to dine. As to 
gentlemen " not being able to leave their business," 
to do this, I might suggest that they go to bed earlier, 
to enable them to go earlier to that business in the 
morning. I might also add, that gentlemen gener- 
ally can find time to do anything which they greatly 
desire to do. I might also add, that for one child or 
young person who eats this heartiest meal of the 
day, and goes directly to bed upon it without harm, 
thousands bring on an indigestion, which makes life 
a curse instead of the blessing it ought to be. 

Where do you ever hear now, the frank, hearty 
invitation, " Come in any time and see us ?" How 
is it possible, when a table preparation that involves 
so much thought and expense, is considered the 
proper way to honor a guest, and conversation and 
cordiality are secondary matters, if not altogether 
ignored ? Of what use is it to have a fine house, and 
well-stocked wine-cellar, and drilled servants, when 
the passion for show has reached such a pitch, 
that public saloons and suites of rooms in vast 
hotels, must be hired, and a man leave his own 
house, be it ever so fine, because he must have 
more room and more parade, than any private 
house can by any possibility furnish, without 
pitching the whole family into inextricable chaos and 
confusion for a month. 

This is all false and wrong, and demoralizing. It 
is death to social life — death to the true happiness 
and well-beirg of the family, and in my opinion, 



76 Folly as it Flies, 

ladies are to blame for it, and ladies only can effect 
a reform. 

Simplify yonr toilets — simplify your dinners, la- 
dies. There are many of yon wlio liave snfficient 
good sense to indorse tliis view of the case ; how 
many are there with sufficient courage to defy the 
tyranny of omnipotent fashion and carry it out ? 



Now, let me tell you how it was in good old-fash- 
ioned New England towns ; when people enjoyed 
life five times as well as now. Then husbands, 
wives, and children had not each a separate chcle 
of acquaintances, and their cliief aim was not to regu- 
late matters, with a view to be in each other's society 
as little as possible. That fatal deatli-blow to the 
purity, happiness, and love of home. 

Then you went at dark to tea. I am speaking of 
the old-fashioned New England parties. You and 
your husband, and your eldest boy or girl ; the lat- 
ter being instructed not to pull over the cake to get 
the best piece, or otherwise to misbehave themselves. 
There were assembled the principal members of the 
church, and, above all, its pastor and spouse, and 
deacons ditto. The married women had on their best 
caps and collars, and the regulation black-silk- com- 
pany-dress, which, in my opinion, has never been 
improved upon by pi^ofane modern fingers. The 
young girls wore a merino of bright hue, if it were 
winter, with a little frill of lace about the shoulders ; 



Women and their Mistakes, 77 

or a wliite cambric dress if the mildness of tlie 
weather admitted. The men always in black, laity 
or clergy, with flesh-colored gloves, of Nature's own 
making, warranted to fit 

'All assembled, the buzz of talk was soon agree- 
ably interrupted by the entrance of a servant bearing 
a heavily-laden tray of cups and saucers, filled with 
tea and coffee, cream and sugar. This tray was 
rested on a table; and the host, rising, requested 

Eev. Mr. to ask a blessing. He did it, and the 

youngsters, eying the cake, wished it had been 
shorter. So did the girl in charge of the tray. 
'' Blessing'' at last over, the tea and coffee were dis- 
tributed. The matrons charging their initiatory 
fledglings " not to spill over," often wisely pouring a 
spoonful of coffee or tea, from the cup into the 
saucer, to prevent the former from any china-gym- 
nastics unfavorable to the best gown or carpet. The 
men turned their toes in till they met ; spread their 
red silk handkerchiefs over their bony knees, and on 
that risky, improvised, graceful lap, placed the hot 
cup of tea, with an awful sense of responsibility, 
which interfered with the half-finished account of the 
last "revival." Then came a tray of thinly-sliced 
bread and butter, delicate and tempting ; rich cake, 
guiltless of hartshorn or soda, with delicate sand- 
wiches, and tiny tarts. 

This ceremony gone through, the young people 
crawled from the maternal wing, and laughed 'Und 
talked in corners, as fi*eely and hilariously as if they 
were not " children of damnation," destined to eter- 



78 Folly as it Flies, 

nal torment if tliey did not indorse the creed of tlieir 
forefathers. Their elders, with satisfied stomachs, 
and cheerful voices and faces, seemed to have merged 
the awful " hell," too, for the time being ; and no- 
body would have supposed them capable of bringing 
children into the world, to be scared through it with 
a claw-footed devil constantly at their backs. 

As the evening went on, the buzz and noise in- 
creased. The youngsters giggled and pushed about, 
keeping jealous watch the while, for the nine o'clock 
tray of goodies, which was to delight their eyes and 
feast their palates. This tray contained the biggest 
oranges and apples, the freshest cluster-raisins, and 
almonds, hickory nuts, three-cornered nuts, filberts 
and grapes. After this came a tray of preserved 
quinces, or plums, or peaches, with little pitchers of 
real cream. Then, to wind up, little cunning glasses 
filled with lemonade, made of lemons. 

Now the youngsters had plenty to do. So ab- 
sorbed were they, cracking nuts and jokes, that when 
the minister, seizing the back of a chair in the mid- 
dle of the room, said, " Let us pray," the diificulty 
of cutting a laugh off short in the middle, and dis- 
posing of their plates, presented itself in such an 
hysterical manner, that a pinch of the ear, or a shake 
of the shoulders, had to be resorted to, to bring 
things to a spiritual focus. After prayers came 
speedy cloakings, shawlings, and kind farewells and 
greetings ; and by ten^ or shortly after, the horn* at 
which modern parties hegin^ visitors and visited were 
all tucked comfortably between the sheets. 



Women and their Mistakes, 79 

Kow. Nobody can give a party tliat does not in- 
volve tlie expenditure of hundreds of dollars. Din- 
ner, or evening party, it is all the same. The hostess 
muddles her brain about "devilled fowl," "frozen 
puddings," "meringue" things, of every shape — 
floral pyramids, for which she has my forgiveness, 
for fashion never had a more pardonable sin than 
this. She must have dozens of hired silver, and 
chairs, and hired waiters, and the mantua-maker 
must be driven wild for dress trimmings, and the in- 
terior of the house must be thrown off of the family 
track for days, before and after. And the good man 
of it must have a dozen kinds of wines, and as many 
kinds of cigars ; and there must be more " courses," 
if it is a dinner, than you could count ; and you must 
sit tedious hours, while these are trotted on and trotted 
off, by skilled skirmishers ; and what with the neces- 
sity of all this restaurant-business, and the stupidity 
that comes of over-feeding, one might as well leave his 
brains at home when he goes into modern "society." 
Not to speak of the host and hostess, whose attempts 
at conversation are fettered, and spasmodic in conse- 
quence ; for, have as many servants as you may, 
mistakes xvill happen, critshing mistakes, such as a 
dish located east instead of west, or wine wrongly 
placed, or the wrong wine rightly plac:d, or a dish 
tardy, that should be speedy ; all of which moment- 
ous things, to the scholastic mind of the host, or the 
intelligent brain of the hostess, beicg sufficient to 
make them forget that " the chief end of man " was 
not to cultivate his stomach. ISTow, if one must needs 



80 Folly as it Flies, 

lui'e one's friends with a vulgar bill of fare, like a 
hotel, in order to ensure their presence ; if one must 
think' of the subject days beforehand, in one shape 
and another, and be bored, and worried, and bad- 
gered with these material things ; if helUes, to speak 
politely, are to domineer over trains this way, then I 
say that " society." at such a price, isn't worth hav- 
ing. Por one, I had rather go back to the weak, 
lemonade and strong prayers of our forefathers. 



Then, as to the dress of women. If there is one 
phrase more universally misapplied than another, it 
is the phrase " well-dressed." The first thing to be 
considered in this connection, is fitness. A superb 
and costly silk, resting upon the questionable straw 
in the bottom of an omnibus, excites only pity for the 
bad taste of the luckless wearer. A pair of tight- 
fitting, light kid gloves, on female fingers, on a day 
when the windows are crusted with frost, strikes us 
as an uncalled-for martyrdom under the circum- 
stances ; also a pair of high-heeled new boots, with 
polished soles, constantly threatening the wearer 
with a humiliating downfall, and necessitating slow 
and careful locomotion, on icy pavements, in com- 
pany with a very pink nose. Bows of ribbon, jew- 
elled combs and head-pins at breakfast, either at a 
hotel table or at home, do not convey to me an idea 
o^ fitness ; also, white or pink parasols for promenade 
or shopping excursions, whether the remainder of 



Women and their Mistakes, 81 

the dress is in keeping or not, and more often it is 
the latter. A rich velvet outer garment over a com- 
mon dress; a handsome set of furs with a soiled 
bonnet ; diamond earrings with shabby gloves ; gold 
watch and trinkets, and a silk dress ornamented 
with grease pots ; sloppy, muddy pavements and 
pink silk hose — all these strike the beholder as 
incongruous. 

There are women who are slow to understand 
these things. The season, the atmosphere and the 
hour of the day have no bearing at all upon their 
decisions as to costume. A woman with restricted 
means, and unable to indulge in changes of apparel, 
instead of selecting fabrics or trimmings which will 
not invite attention to this fact, will often select 
such a stunning, glaring outfit, that the truth she 
would conceal, is patent to every beholder ; an 
inexpensive dress, provided it be whole, clean, well- 
fitting and harmonious in its accessories, conveys 
the idea of being "well-dressed" quite as emphat- 
ically as a toilette five times more costly. But what 
is the use of talking ? One woman shall go into her 
room, and, without study or thought, instinctively 
harmonize her whole attire, so that the most fastid- 
ious critic shall find no fault with her selection. 
Another shall put on the same things, and then 
neutralize the whole by some flaring, incongruou3, 
idiotic " last touch " which she imagines her crown- 
ing success. She can't do it ! and, what is worse, 
she can't be persuaded that she can't do it. 

After all, what does it matter? growls some 



82 " Folly as it Flies, 

believer in " "VYatts on tlie Mind ;" wliat does it 
matter wliat a woman loears F It is a free country. 
So it is ; and yet I am glad tlie trees and tlie grass in 
it are green, not red. I am glad that tlie beautiful 
snow is not black. I am glad that every flower is 
not yellow, and that the sky is not a pea-green. 
Woman is by nature a neat and tidy creature; 
grace and beauty she strives for, be it ever so dimly. 
All that intelligently helps to this, I affirm to be a 
means of grace. It would not be amiss to inquire 
how much moral pollution and loss of self-respect 
among the women in our tenement houses is conse- 
quent upon their Id ability, amid such, miserable 
surroundings, to appear in anything but their un- 
womanly rags. If a woman has a husband who is 
indifferent whether her hair is smoothed once a day 
or once a year, still let her, for her children's sake, 
strive to look as attractive as she can. " ^y mother 
is not so pretty as yours," said one child to another. 
The keen little eyes had noted the rumpled hair, the 
untidy wrapper, the slipshod shoe, which were con- 
sidered good enough for the nurseiy, unless com- 
pany was expected. Sickness excepted, this is wrong 
and unnecessary. Nothing that tends to make home 
bright is a matter of inconsequence, and this least of 
all How many young mothers, sitting in their 
nurseries, love to recall the pleasant picture of their 
mother in hers. The neat dress — the shining hair, 
the beaming face. So let your children remember 
you. Be not pretty and tidy, only when company 
comes. 



Women and their Mistakes, 83 

Tlien tliere is tlie school question, whicli is never 
long out of mj mind. The papers are full of 
"school advertisements," of every kind, ^^ Which is 
the best P ask the bewildered parents as they look 
over the thousand-and-one Prospectus-es and read 
the formidable list of " branches " taught in each, 
between the hours of nine and three, for each day, 
Sundays excepted. They look at their little 
daughter. "It is time, they say, that she learned 
something ;" and that is true ; but they do not con- 
sider that is not yet time for her to learn everything ; 
and that in the attempt she will probably break 
down before the experiment is half made. They do 
not consider, in their anxiety, that she should, be 
educated with the railroad speed so u.nhappily prev- 
alent ; that to keep a growing child in school from 
nine till three is simply torture ; and to add to that 
lessons out of school, an offence, which should come 
under the head of " Cruelty to Animals," and pun- 
ished accordingly by the city authorities; who, in 
their zeal to decide upon the most humane manner 
in which to kill calves and sheep, seem quite to 
overlook the slow process by which the children of 
New York are daily murdered. That " everybody 
does so ;" that " all schools " keep these absurd, 
hours; that "teachers want the afternoons to 
themselves,"— seem to me puerile reasons, when I 
meet each clay, at three o'clock, the great army of 
children, bearing in their bent shoulders, narrow 
phests and pale faces, the unmistakable marks of 
this overstrain of the brain, at a critical age. And 



84 Folly as it Flies. 

wlien I see, in addition, tlie piles of books under 
their arms, effectually to prevent the only alleviation 
of so grave a mistake, in the out-door exercise that 
their cramped limbs, and tired brains so loudly call 
for, after school hours, I have no words to express 
my sorrow and disgust of our present school system. 
It is not teachers, but parents^ who are to right 
this matter. The former but echo the wishes of the 
latter. If parents think physical education a matter 
of no consequence, why should teachers love those 
children better than the parents themselves? If 
parents are so anxious for the cramming process, 
which is filling our church-yarjis so fast, why should 
teachers, who " must live," interfere ? Kow and 
then, one more humane, less self-seeking, than the 
majority, will venture to suggest that the pupil has 
already quite as much mental strain as is safe for its 
tender years ; but when the reply is in the form of a 
request from the parent that "another branch will 
not make much difference," what encouragement 
has the teacher to continue to oppose such stupidity ? 
Not long since, I heard of a mother who was boast- 
ing to a friend of the smartness and precocity of her 
little daughter of seven years, " who attended school 
from nine till three each day, and studied most of 
the intervening time ; and was so fond of her books 
that all niglit^ in her sleep^ she ivOyS saying over her 
geography lessons and doing her sums in arithmeticJ'^ 
Comment on such folly is unnecessary. I throw o\x% 
these few hints, hoping that one mother, at least, 
may pause long enough to give so important a 



Women and their Mistakes, 85 

subject a moment's thouglit. That slie may ask, 
whether it wonld not be wise occasionally to visit 
the school-room where her child spends so much of 
its time ; and examine the state of. ventilation in the 
apartment, and see if the desk, at which the child 
sits so long, is so contrived that it might have been 
handed down from the days of the Inquisition, as a 
model instrument of torture. I will venture to say, 
that her husband takes far better care, and expends 
more pains-taking thought, with his favorite horse, 
if he has one, than she ever has on the physical 
well-being of her child. What right^ I ask, has she 
to bring children into the world, who is too indolent, 
or too thoughtless, or too pleasure-loving to guide 
their steps safely, happily, and above all, healthily 
throuD:h it ? . 



There is another topic on which I wish to speak to 
women. I hope to live to see the time when they 
will consider it a disgrace to be sick. When women, 
and men too, with flat chests and stooping shoulders, 
will creep round the back way, like other violators 
of known laws. Those who inherit sickly constitu- 
tions have my sincerest pity. I only request one 
favor of them, that they cease perpetuating them- 
selves till they are physically on a sound basis. But 
a woman who laces so tightly that she breathes only 
by a rare accident ; who vibrates constantly between 
the confectioner's shop and the dentist's office ; who 
has ball-robes and jewels in plenty, but who owns 



86 Folly as it Flies, 

neither an umbrella, nor a water-proof cloak, nor a 
pair of thick boots ; who lies in bed till noon, never 
exercises, and complains of "total want of appetite," 
save for pastry and pickles, is simply a disgusting 
nuisance. Sentiment is all very nice; but, were I 
a man, I would beware of a woman who *' couldn't 
eat." Why don't she take care of herself? "Why 
don't she take a nice little bit of beefsteak with her 
breakfast, and a nice wallc — not ride — after it ? Why 
don't she stop munching sweet stuff between meals ? 
Why don't she go to bed at a decent time, and lead 
a clean, healthy life ? The doctors and confectioners 
have ridden in their carriages long enough ; let the 
butchers and shoemakers take a turn at it. A man 
or woman who "can't eat" is never sound on any 
question. It is waste breath to converse with them. 
They take hold of everything by the wrong handle. 
Of course it makes them very angry to whisper pity- 
ingly, " dyspepsia," when they advance some dis- 
torted opinion; but I always do it. They are not 
going to muddle my brain with their theories, be- 
cause their internal works are in a state of physical 
disorganization. Let them go into a Lunatic Asylum 
and be properly treated till they can learn how they 
are put together, and how to manage themselves sen- 
sibly. 

How I rejoice in a man or woman with a chest ; 
who can look the sun in the eye, and step off as if 
they had not wooden legs. It is a rare sight. If a 
woman now has an errand round the corner, she 
must have a carriage to go there ; and the men, more 



Women and their Mistakes. 87 

dead tlian alive, so lethargic are tliej witli constant 
smoking, creep into cars and omnibuses, and curl 
up in a corner, dreading nothing so much, as a little 
wholesome exertion. The more '' tired " they are, 
the more diligently they smoke, like the women who 
drink perpetual tea " to keep them up." 

Keep them up ! Heavens ! I am fifty-five, and I 
feel half the time as if I were just made. To be sure 
I was born in Maine, where the timber and the hu- 
man race last ; but I do not eat pastry, nor candy, 
nor ice-cream, I do not drink tea ! I walk, 
not ride. I own stout boots — pretty ones, too ! I 
have a water-proof cloak, and no diamonds. I like 
a nice bit of beefsteak and a glass of ale, and any. 
body else who wants it may eat pap. I go to bed at 
ten, and get up at six. I dash out in the rain, be- 
cause it feels good on my face. I don't care for my 
clothes, but I will be well ; and after I am buried, I 
warn you, don't let any fresh air or sunlight down 
on my cofiin, if you don't want me to get up. 



NOTES UPON PREACHERS AND PREACHING. 




CAN imagine notliing more disheartening to 
clergyman, than to go to churcli, with an 
^^Si!' excellent sermon in his coat-pocket, and 
find, an audience of twenty-five people. I was one 
of twenty-five, the other night, who can bear witness, 
that having turned out, in a pelting rain, to evening 
service, the clergyman preached to us with as much 
eloquence, good sense and zeal as if his audience 
numbered twenty-five hundred. You may ask why 
shouldn't he? If he believes one soul is more value 
than all the world, why shouldn't he? Merely 
because there is as much human nature in a clergy- 
man as in anybody else. Merely because he is, like 
other people, affected by outward influences ; and a 
row of empty seats migh well have a depressing 
physical effect, notwithstanding his " belief" 

When I go to church I want to carry something 
back with me wherewithal to fight the devil through 
the week. I don't want the ancestry of Jeroboam 
and Ezekiel, and Keranhappuck raked up and com- 
mented on ; or any other fossil dodge, to cover up 
the speaker's barrenness of head or heart. I want 
something for to-day — for over-burdened men and 



Preachers a7id Preaching, 89 

women in this year of onr Lord 1869. SometHng 
live ; something that has some bearing on our daily 
work; something that recognizes the seething ele- 
metits abont us, and their bearings on the questions 
of conscience and duty we are all hourly called on 
to settle. I want a minister who won't forever take 
refuge in "the Ark," for fear of saying something 
that conservatism will hum ! and ha ! oyer. 

One day I heard this remark, coming out of 
church where that style of sermon was preached : 
" Well — what has all that to do with me f 'Now 
that's just it. It expresses my idea better than a 
whole library could. What has that to do with me ? 
Me individually — ^bothered, perplexed, sore-hearted, 
weary me, hungry for soul-comfort. I think this is 
the trouble ; ministers live too much in their libra- 
ries. If they would set fire to them, and study 
human nature more, the world would be the gainer. 
They need to get out of the old time-crusted groove. 
To stir round a bit, and see something besides Jero- 
boam ; to know the tragedies that are going on in 
the lives of their parishioners, and find out the alle- 
viations and the remedy. We have got to live on 
earth a while before we " get to heaven." It might 
be as well to consider that occasionally. It is quite 
as important to show us how to live here as how to 
get there. 

I don't believe in a person's eyes being so fixed on 
heaven, that he goes blundering over everybody's 
corns on the way there. If that's his Christianity, 
the sooner he gets tripped up the better. J saw " a 



90 Folly as it Flies, 

Christian " the other daj. It was a worldngman, 
who, noticing across the street a little girl of seven 
years, trying to lift with her little cold fingers a 
bundle, and poise it on her head, pnt down his box 
of tools, went across the street and lifted it up tor 
her, and with a cheery " there now, my dear," went 
smiling on his way. 



Oh, if clergymen wonld only study their fellow men 
more. If they wonld less often try to unravel some 
doubte-twisted theological knot, which, if pulled out 
straight, would never carry one drop of balm to a 
suffering fellow-being, or teach him how to bear 
bravely and patiently the trials, under which soul 
and body are ready to faint. If, looking into some 
yearning face before them on a Sunday, they would 
preach only to its wistful asking for spiritual help, 
in words easy to be understood — in heart-tones not 
to be mistaken — how different would Sundays seem, 
to many women^ at least, whose heart-aches, and 
unshared burdens, none but their Maker knows. 
" Heavy laden !" Let our clergymen never forget 
that phrase in their abstruse examination of text and 
context. Let them not forget that as Lazarus 
watched for the falling crumbs from Dives' table, so 
some poor harassed soul before them may be sitting 
with expectant ear, for the hopeful words, that shall 
give courage to shoulder again the weary burden. I 
sometimes wonder, were I a clergyman, could I preach 
in this way to nodding plumes, and flashing jewels. 



Preachers and Preaching, 91 

and rustling silks? Would not mj very soul be 
paralyzed within me, as theirs seems to be ? And 
then I wish that nobody could own a velvet cushioned 
pew in church ; that the doors of all churches were 
open to every man and woman, in whatsoever garb 
they might chance to wear in passing, and not par- 
celled and divided off for the reception of certain 
classes, and the exclusion (for it amounts to that) of 
those who most need spiritual help and teaching. 
You tell me that there are places provided for such 
people. So there are cars for colored people to ride 
in. My Christianity, if I have any, builds^ up no 
such walls of separation. How often have I seen a 
face loitering at a church threshold, listening to the 
swelling notes of the organ, and longing to go in, 
were it not for the wide social gulf between itself 
and those who assembled — I will not say worshipped 
— there, and I know if that clergyman, inside that 
church, spoke as his Master spake when on earth, 
that he would soon preach to empty walls. They 
want husks ; they pay handsomely for husks, and 
they get them, I say in my vexation, as the door 
swings on its hinges in some poor creature's face, 
and he wanders forth to struggle unaided as best he 
may with a poor man's temptations. Our Eoman 
Catholic brethren are wiser. Their creed is not my 
creed, save this part of it : " That the rich and the 
poor meet here together, and the Lord is the Maker 
of them all." I often go there to see it. I am glad 
when the poor servant drops on her knees in the 
aisle, and makes the sign of the cross, that nobody 



92 Folly as it Flies, 

bids lier rise, to make way for a silken robe that 
may be waiting behind her. I am glad the mother 
of many little children may drop in for a brief 
moment, before the altar, to recognize her spiritaal 
needs, and then pass out to the cares she may not 
longer lose sight of I do not believe as they do, 
but it gladdens my heart all the same, that one man 
is as good as his neighbor at least iliere — before God. 
I breathe freer at the thought I can sit in a corner 
and watch them pass in and out, and rejoice that 
every one, how humble soever, feels that he or she 
is that church, just as much as the richest foreigner 
from the cathedrals of the old world, whom they 
may jostle in passing out. Said one poor girl to me 
— " I don't care what happens to me, or how hard I 
work through the week, if I can get away to my 
Sunday morning mass." She was a woman to be 
sure, and women, high and low, have more spirit- 
uality than men. They can't do without their churcli 
• — sometimes, I am sorry to say, not even with it ; 
for, as the same servant solemnly and truthfully 
remarked to me, " Even then the devil is sometimes 
too strong for 'em I" 



A FASHIONABLE church is more distasteful to me 
because memory always conjures up certain pleasant 
country Sundays of long ago. Ah! that walk 
through the shady sweet-briar roads, full of perfume, 
and song, and dew, to the village church, in whose 
ample shed were tied Dobbins of every shape and 



Preachers and Preaching, 93 

color, switching the flies with their long tails, and 
neighing friendly acquaintance with each other. 
Oh ! the wide open windows of the church, guiltless 
of painted apostles and dropsical cherubs, where the 
breeze played through, bringing with it the sweet 
odor of clover and honeysuckle and new-mown hay, 
and the drowsy hum of happy insect life, and now 
and then a little bird, who sang his little song 
without pay^ and flitted out again. Oh ! the good 
old snow-haired jDatriarchs — ^who didnH dye their hair 
or whiskers — ^leaning on their sticks, followed by 
chubby little grandchildren, whose cheeks rivalled 
the reddest apples in their orchards. Then the 
farmers' wives, with belts they could breathe under, 
with ample chests and sunny glances of content at 
Susan, and Nancy, and Tommy, in their best Sun- 
day clothes. Then the good old-fashioned singing, 
with which nobody found fault, though a crack- 
voiced old deacon did join in, because he was too 
happy to keep silent about " Jordan.'' Then the 
hand-shaking after service, and the hearty good-will 
to " the minister and his folks." Then the adjourn- 
ment to the grove near by, to pass the intermission 
till the afternoon service, and the selection of the 
sweetest and shadiest spot to unpack the lunch 
baskets. The shifting light through the branches, 
upon the pretty heads of the country girls, with 
their fresh cheeks and shining hair and blue ribbons. 
And after doughnuts and cheese and apple-pie, were 
shared and eaten,, the ramble after wild-flowers round 
the roots of the mossy old trees, or the selection of 



94 Folly as it Flies, 

the prettiest oak leaves to make wreatlis for pretty 
heads, and the shy looks of admu-ation of the rustic 
beaux as they were severally adjusted. Then the 
little group under the trees, singing psalm tunes, as 
the matrons wandered over to the grave-yard to 
read for the hundredth time the little word " Anna," 
or "Joseph," or " Samuel," inscribed on some head- 
stone, from which they pulled away the intrusive 
grass or clover, plucking a little leaf as they left, and 
hiding it in their ample, motherly bosoms. 

All this came to me as I sat in that hot, stifled, 
painted-window, fashionable church, listening to the 
dull monotone about the Hittites, from which I 
reaped nothing bu.t irritation ; and I vashed I was a 
school-girl again, back in that lovely village in New 
Hampshire, where Sundays were not opening days 
for millinery ; where people went to church because 
they loved it, and not because it was " respectable " 
to be seen there once a day ; where heaven's light 
was not excluded for any dim taper of man's light- 
ing, and one could sing though he had not performed 
during the week at the opera ; and the doxology 
rang out as only farmers' lungs can make it. I am 
glad I had this school-girl experience of lovely, 
balmy, country Sundays, though it spoils me for the 
formal, city Sunday. Every summer, when I go to 
the countiy, I hunt up some old church like this, 
which all the winter I have longed for. Though, 
truth to tell, what with city boarders who infest 
them, with their perfume and point-lace, and rustling 
silks, my country church is getting more difficult 



Preachers and Preaching, ^5 

every year to find How it spoils it all, wlien some 
grand city dame comes sailing in, with her astound- 
ing millinery devices, to profane my simple country 
chnrch and astonish its simple worshippers ! My 
dear madam, for my sake, please this summer ^^ say 
your prayers " on the piazza of the grand hotel, 
afliicted by yourself and your seven mammoth trav- 
elling trunks^ 



I STEAYED into a strange church not long since, 
chose my seat, and sat down. Sextons are polite ; 
but they have a way of marching one up, through a 
long aisle, under the very shadow of the pulpit, and 
under the noses of an expectant congregation, when 
unfortunately I have a fancy for a quiet, out of the 
way corner. The church was plain and neat, and 
nicely dressed, with its shining bunches of holly, 
and its stars, and its green wreathed-pillars. The 
temperature of the place was pleasant, and the bright 
lights, and the sweet tones of the organ, were all 
promotive of serenity and cheerfulness. The con- 
gregation dropped in, in groups and families, and 
took their places. They were not fashionable 
people ; evidently they were workers on week-days. 
The men and the women, and even the children, had 
that look, in spite of their Sunday clothes. So 
much the more glad was I that they had such a 
bright, cheerful church to come to. By and by the 
minister came in. Now, thought I, God grant his 
sermon be cheerful too ; for these are people who 
lead no holiday lives, and all the more need a lift 



96 Folly as it Flies, 

out of it on Sunday. The burden of tlie first lijmn 
lie chose was "death's cold arms;" read in atone 
stadiedly corresponding to its cheerfal sentiment 
A wail from the organ preceded the singing, whose 
dolor affected me like a toss-out into a snow-drift. 
Then the minister rose. His first salutation was 
" My dying friends." Then he proceeded to inform 
them that the old year was dying. That there it 
lay, with its great hands crossed over its mighty 
heart, and the sepulchre yawning for its last pulsa- 
tion. Then he reminded them that very likely 
many of those present would be in that very condi- 
tion before the close of the new year. Then he told 
the young folks a frightful story about a dying 
young man whose friends sent for him (the speaker.) 
A young man who hadnH joined the church. "When 
he got there, he said, " reason had deserted its 
throne ;" which was his way of saying that the 
young man was crazy, and his way of inferring that 
it was a judgment on him for not " having joined the 
church." Then he said, that though they waited 
and waited for his reason to come back, his soul fled 
away without, and the inference was that it fled to 
hell. He didn't recognize any charitable possibility 
that much might have passed between that young 
man's soul and its Maker, though not expressed 
either to friends or pastor, which might savor of 
heaven instead of hell^ and that — although he had not 
joined the church ; — not a clue was left for the faint- 
est hope for any of his friends that might happen to 



Preachers and Preaclmig, 97 

be present, that this young man's sonl was not eter- 
nally dammed. 

"What right, indeed, had the Almighty to know 
more of one of his congregation than he himself? 
What right had He to pardon a fleeting soul, with 
no shriving from its pastoral keeper ? I say this in 
no spuit of irreverence. But, oh ! why will clergy- 
men persist in scaring people to heaven? Why 
darken lives heavily laden with toil, discouragement, 
and care through the six days of the week, by ad- 
ding to its depressing weight on Sunday ? Has 
" Come unto me ye heavy laden " no place in their 
Bible? Is "Grod is Love" blotted from out its 
pages ? Is the human heart — especially the youthful 
heart — ^untouchable by any appeal save the cow- 
ardly one of fear? Would those young people, 
when out of leading-strings, continue to look upon 
life through the charnel-house spectacles of this 
spiritual teacher ? Would there come no dreadful 
rebound to those young men and yoimg women, from 
this perpetual gloom? These were questions I there 
asked myself ; wisely, or unwisely, you shall be the 
judge. 

"Like as a father pitieth his children," I talisman- 
ically murmured to myself, as I left the church, with 
the last dolorous hymn ringing in my ear — 

" When cold in death I lie." 



How great the change in the temporal condition 
of the Minister of Old and Modern Times. The 
5 



98 Folly as it Flies, 

half-fed, ill-paid, scantily-clothed, over-worked, dis- 
couraged " minister " of the olden time is — ^where is 
he? The " minister," before whose pen and paper 
came the troubled faces of wife and children ; who 
dreaded the knock of a parishioner, lest it should in- 
volve the diminution of a " salary " which a common 
day -laborer might well refuse for its pitiful inade- 
quacy ; the minister whose body was expected to be 
so Siamesed to his soul, that the " heavenly manna " 
would answer equally the demands of both. The 
minister who must plant and hoe his own potatoes, 
but always in a black coat and white neckcloth. 
The minister whose children must come up miniature 
saints, while all their father's spare time was spent 
in driving his parishioners' children safe to heaven. 
The minister who, when he was disabled for farther 
service, was turned out like an old horse to browse 
on thistles by the road-side ; — tliat minister, to the 
credit of humanity be it said, is among the things 
that wera Instead — nobody is astonished at, or 
finds fault with, paragraphs in the papers annou.nc- 
ing that the Eev. Kufus.Eusk was presented by the 
board of trustees, in the name of many friends of 
his congregation, with a costly autograph album ; 
upon every page of which was found a $10 green- 
back, amounting in all to $1,000 ; and that afterward 
he was invited to partake of an elegant collation. 
Or — that the Eev. Silas Sands received from his 
church and Congregation securities to the amount of 
$10,000, as a testimonial of their esteem for his faith- 
ful services for many years. Or, that the Eev. 
Henry Cook had a gift of a commodious and pleasant 



Preachers and Preaching, 99 

residence from his cliurcli ; or, tliat Kis health seem- 
ing to require a voyage to Europe, the necessary 
funds were promptly and cheerfully placed in his 
. hands by his affectionate people. 

The community do not faint away at these an- 
nouncements, as far as I can find out. They seem 
to have come to the unanimous conclusion that the 
'^ minister," like other laborers, is " worthy of his 
hire." For one, I could wish this knowledge had 
come sooner ; for I bethink me, in my day, of the 
good men and true, who have staggered to their 
graves without a sympathizing word, or the slightest 
token of recognition for services under which soul 
and body were fainting ; and whose bitterest death- 
pang was the thought that their children, too young 
to help themselves, must, after all -this serfdom, be 
the recipients of a grudging charity. 

The presence of a clergyman is not now the signal 
for small children to be seized with mortal terror ; 
he no longer sits like a night-mare on the panting 
chest of merriment. He is merry himself. The 
more Christianity he has the more cheerful he is, 
and ought to he. He talks upon other things than 
the ten commandments. He joins in innocent games 
and amusements. If he has an opinion, he dares ex- 
press it, though it may differ from that of some 
" prominent man." He can fish and shoot, and drive 
and row, and take a milk punch, like other free 
agents without damaging his clerical robe or his u.se- 
falness. He can have beautiful things to make his 
home attractive, without being accused of " worldli- 



100 Folly as it Flies, 

ness." He can wear a nicely fitting coat, or boot, 
or hat, without peril to anybody's salvation. He 
can give a good dinner, or go to one. He can go to 
the circns. He can attend the opera. He can own 
and drive a fast horse. His stomach consequently 
does not, as of yore, cling to his miserable backbone ; 
nor are his cheeks cavernous ; since he draws a free 
breath, and sneezes when he see fit, like the laymen. 
Every day I thank God that the clergyman's millen- 
nium has begun. That his wife looks no longer 
like . a piece of worn-out old fur, nor his children 
like spring chickens. That congregations now feel 
a pride in their minister, and an honest shame when 
he really needs anything which they have, and he has 
not. That they no longer hurt his self-respect by 
their manner of ^giving " what he has earned a thou- 
sand times over. In short, "the minister" is no 
longer a cringing creature, creeping close to the wall, 
lest he offend by the mere fact of his existence ; but 
a brisk-stepping, square-shouldered, broad-chested, 
round human being, whom it is pleasant to look at 
and comforting to listen to, since his theology is no 
longer as pinched as his larder. 



As to " the minister's wife " of the olden time, 
where is she"^ The ubiquitous "minister's wife," 
who must make and mend, and bake and brew, and 
churn, and have children, and nurse and educate 
them, and receive calls at all hours, with a sweet 



Preachers and Preaching, 101 

smile on her face, and thank everybody for remind- 
ing lier of wliat they consider her short-comings ; 
who must attend funerals, and weddings, and births, 
and social prayer-meetings, and ^' neighborhood-meet- 
ings," and " maternal meetings ;" and contribute cal- 
ico aprons for the Fejee Islanders, and sew flannel 
nightcaps for the Choctaw infants, and cut and make 
her husband's trousers ; and call as often on Mrs. 
Deacon Smith, and stay as long to the minute, as 
she did on Mrs. Deacon Jones ; and who must call 
a parish meeting to sit on her new bonnet, if so be 
that the old one was pronounced by all the Grundys 
unfit for farther service. The minister's wife, who 
was hunted through the weeks and months and 
years, by a carping, stingy parish, till she looked 
like a worn-out old piece of fur ; behold her now ! 

For one, / like to see her pretty bonnet, /like 
to see her children shouting in the sunshine, all the 
same as if their " Pa " wasn't a minister. I like her 
daughters to play on the piano, and her boys to kick 
round independently and generally like the boys of 
other men. I like to see them live in a comfortable 
house, hung with pictures and filled with pretty 
things. I like their table to have nice cups and 
saucers, and table-cloths and napkins, and good 
things to eat on it. I am glad the minister's wife can 
stay at home when she feels like it ; and not be trotted 
out with the toothache of a wet day to see if there is not 
danger of Squire Smith's baby sneezing because the 
wind is east ; under penalty of her husband's dismis- 
sal from his pastoral charge. It does me good to see 



102 , Folly as it Flies, 

modern ministers' spouses hold np their heads and 
face the dayhght like other men's wives, instead of 
creeping ronnd on all fours, apologizing for their ex- 
istence, and inviting cuffs from people who, born 
without soals, consequently can have no call for " a 
minister." 




BEIDGET AS SHE WAS, AND BBIDGET AS 

SHE IS. 

SQUAEE, solid form, innocent of corsets ; a 
,^ tbick, dark "stuff "-dress, raised higli above 

ankles wkick are sliaped for use ; stout leath- 
er shoes ; hands red and gloveless ; a bonnet of obso- 
lete shape and trimmings ; a face round as the moon, 
from wliich the rich red blood, made of potatoes and 
pure air, seems ready to burst ; great, honest eyes, 
always downcast when addressed by those whom the 
old country styles " superiors." Such is Bridget 
Vfhen she first steps from the deck of the good ship 
" Maria," at Castle Garden. 

Bridget goes to a " place." The pert house-maid 
titters when she appears, square and wholesome, like 
a human cow. Bridget's ears catch the word 
" greenhorn," and " she might as well be a grand- 
mother as to be only seventeen." Bridget looks 
furtively at the smart, though cheap dress of the 
chambermaid, with its inevitable flimsy ruffled skirt 
and tinsel buttons, and then at her despised "best 
dress," which she has been wont to keep so tidy for 
Sundays and holidays. She looks at the thin, paper- 
soled gaiters of the critical housemaid, and then at 
her stout, dew-defying brogans. She looks at her 
own thick masses of hair, fastened up with only one 



104 Folly as it Flies. 

idea — ^to keep it out of the way — and tlien at tlie 
lio-asemaid's elaborate parlor-imitation of puff and 
braid and curl. The view subdues her. She is for 
the first time ashamed of her own thick natural 
tresses. She looks at her peony-red cheeks, and 
contrasts them with the sickly but " genteel " pallor 
of the housemaid's, and gradually it dawns upon her 
why they whispered " greenhorn " when she stepped 
into the kitchen that first day. But the housemaid, 
overpowering as she is to Bridget, suffers a total 
eclipse when the lady of the house sweeps past, in 
full dress. Bridget looks — ^marvels, adores, and 
vows to imitate. That hair I Those jewels I That 
long, trailing silk skirt and embroidered petticoat I 
Did anybody ever f Could Bridget in any way her- 
self reach such perfection ? She blushes to think 
that only last night in her home-sickness she actually 
longed to milk once more the old red cow in the 
cherished barn-yard. How ridiculous ! She doubts 
whether that sumptuous lady ever saw a cow. The 
idea that she — Bridget — ^had been contented all her 
life to have only cows look at her ! By the way — 
why should that curly-headed grocer-boy talk so 
much to the housemaid, when he brings parcels, and 
never to her ? A light dawns on her dormant brain. 
She will fix her hair the way to catch grocer-boys. 
She too will have a ruffled skirt to drag through the 
gutter, though she may never own any underclothes. 
She will have some brass ear-rings and bracelets and 
things, and some paper-soled boots, with her very 
first wages ; and as to her bonnet, it is true, she can 



Bridget as she Was^ and Is, 105 

afford only one for market and for " mass ;" for rain 
and shine ; for "heat and for cold ; but by St. Patrick, 
it shall be a fourteen-doUar " dress-hat," anyhow, 
though she may never own a pair of India-rubbers, 
or a flannel petticoat, or a pocket-handkerchief, or 
an umbrella. Just as if this wasn't a " free country ?" 
Just as if that spiteful housemaid was going to have 
all the grocer-boys to herself? Bridget will see 
about that ! Her eyes are a pretty blue ; and as to 
her hair, it is at least her own ; yes, ma'am'; no 
" rats " will be necessary for her ; that will save 
something. 

And so the brogans, and the dark " stuff "-dress, 
and the thick stockings, and shawl, come to grief ; 
and in two months' time 'flash is written all over 
Bridget, from the crown of her showy hat to the tips 
of her crucified toes, squeezed into narrow, paper- 
soled, fashionable, high-heeled gaiters. And as to 
her "superiors," gracious goodness ! America is not 
Ireland, nor England either, I'd have you to know. 
You had better just mention that word in Bridget's 
hearing now, and see what will come of it ! 



Stealing is a rough, out-and-out word, generally 
most obnoxious to those, who are in the dafly and 
hourly practice of it. Now domestics too often 
consider that everything that drops upon the carpet 
is their personal property, from a common pin to a 
pair of diamond ear-rings. " 1 found it on the floor ^^^ 



106 Folly as it Flies, 

is considered by tHem sufficient excuse wlien detected 
in any felonious appropriation. 

Now the laws of gravitation being fixed, this view 
of the case is rather startling to mistresses ; particu- 
larly as childish fingers will pull at belts till buckles 
and clasps drop off; at chains till trinkets are dis- 
severed ; at hair till ornamental combs or head pins 
tumble out ; at fingers till rings slip off on sofas or 
chairs. 

When dropped, "has Bridget seen them?" No I 
though she may have swept the room ten minutes 
after. No / — ^though you are sure of having them 
on when you came into that room, and of not having 
them on when you left. ISTo 1 — Bridget confronts 
you sturdily — No ! You bite your lips and pocket 
the loss, with the pleasant recollection that the mis- 
sing article was a gift from some dear, perhaps dead 
friend. Once in a while, to be sure, you may be 
fortunate enough, by making a sudden and successful 
foray among her goods and chattels, to seize the lost 
treasure; but as a general rule, you may as well 
turn your thoughts upon some less irritating subject. 
According to Bridget's code, it is not " stealing," 
constantly to use your thread, needles, spools, silk, 
tape, thimble and scissors, unlimitedly, to make or 
mend her own clothes. Is it not j\ist so much saved 
from her pocket, toward the purchase of a brass 
breast-pin, or a flashy dress-bonnet ? India-rubbers 
and umbrellas, too, being merely useful articles, she 
cannot be expected to provide them for her own use : 
therefore yours, one after another, travel off in new 



Bridget as she Was, and Is. 107 

and unknown directions, until jon are quite weary 
of providing substitutes. Occasionally, your span- 
gled opera-fan spends an evening out, where you 
yourself never had tlie felicity of an introduction ; 
or — your gloves take a sliort journey, and return as 
travellers are apt to do, in rather a soiled and dilap- 
idated condition. As to cologne and perfumes of all 
-kinds, pomade and hair-pins, they disappear like 
dew before the rising sun. " Where all the pins go " 
is also no longer a mystery. Of course " real 
ladies " never notice these little thefts ; but accept 
them in the light of Bridget's perquisites, only too 
thankful if she leaves to them the private and 
unshared use of their head-brush and tooth-brush. 
To sum up the whole thing, there would seem to be 
only two ways at present of getting along with ser- 
vants. One is to be deaf, dumb and blind to every- 
thing that is out of the way ; or else to live in a 
state of perpetual warfare with their general short- 
comings. A man's ultimatum is, "just step into an 
Intelligence Office and get another." Alas ! what 
this " getting another " implies, with all its initiatory 
vexations, is known only to the mistress of the house. 
To make the moon-struck master of it comprehend 
that his wife cannot at once, upon the entrance of a 
bran new Bridget, dismiss dull care, would take more 
breath than most mothers of young and rising fam- 
ilies are able to spare. 



108 Folly as it Flies, 

Then again, if tliere is anytMng calculated to 
*' rile " the mistress of a family, it is tliis common 
rejoinder of domestics to any attempt to regulate the 
household work. "When I lived with Mrs. Smith 
I did thus and so." Will they never be made to 
understand, be they English, Irish, German, or Yan- 
kee, that . Mrs. Smith's way of managing her family 
affau'S can have no possible connection with Mrs. 
Jones's plans for the same. That, on the contrary, 

Mrs. Jones does not care a d ^ime what hour of 

the day Mrs Smith breakfasts, dines, or sups ; what 
days she goes out, or stays in ; or in what manner 
she has her washing, clear-starching and cooking 
done. In short, that it is not only totally irrele- 
vant to the subject to mention her, but a nuisance 
and an irritation. Can Betty, or Sally, or Bridget 
ever comprehend, that, when they engaged to work 
for Mrs. Jones, they were not engaged to work accord- 
ing to Mrs. Smith's programme, or their own, or that 
of any mistress who has ever existed since Eve, who, 
blessed be her name, lived on grapes and- things that 
involved no servants. And can any phrenologist 
inform us whether a kitchen-bump exists, which, if 
patiently manipulated for a series of months, might 
in time convey the idea, that while roast-beef, done 
to leather, may be palatable to Mrs. Smith, rare beef 
may be equally palatable to Mrs. Jones? Also, if 
by any elaborate and painstaking process of instruc- 
tion, Sally, or Bridget, or Betty might be taught, 
that the hours for meals in different families may 
be allowed to vary, according to the different tastes 



Bridget as she Was^ and Is, 109 

and occupations of eacli, and tliat witliout endanger- 
ing the Constitution of the United States. In short, 
that it is about time that the kitchen-traditions, with 
which domestics usually swathe themselves round, 
like so many mummies, were abolished ; and every 
family-tub be allowed quietly to repose on its own 
independent bottom. 

We often wonder how Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith 
would fancy it, should Tom Tiddler, their clerk, an- 
swer their orders by informing them gratuitously of 
the manner in which the firm of Jenkins & Co. con- 
ducted their mercantile business; and how they 
would stand being harrowed within an inch of their 
lives while busily taking an account of stock, by any 
such irrelevant nonsense. 

Also : I would respectfully submit whether the 
petty, every-day irritations over which Mr. Jones or 
Mr. Smith smoke themselves stupid, or explode in 
naughty words, should not, in the case of Mrs. Jones 
and Mrs. Smith, be allowed some other escape-valve 
than that of the "Woman's Guide Book's" — sweei 
smile. 



- The other day, in running my eye over a daily 
paper, I read this advertisement : " A genteel girl 
wishes a situation as chambermaid." Now if there 
is one word in the English language that I hate 
more than another, it is the word genteel. 'Ho matter 
where, or how, or to whom, or by whom it is ap- 
plied, my very soul sickens at it. It is the univer- 



110 Folly as it Flies, 

sal and never-failing indorser of every sliam ever 
foisted upon disgusted hu.man nature. From the 
" genteel " cabbage-scented boarding-liouse, wbere 
tobacco emasculated young men "feed," and mind- 
less, be-flounced, cheap jewel-ried married and un- 
married women smile sweetly on them, to the seventh- 
rate dry-goods store in some obscure street, whose 
clerk sells only the most " genteel " goods at a shil- 
ling per yard; to the "genteel" school-girl who, 
owning one greasy silk dress, imagines that she 
understands her geography better in that attire than 
in a quiet, clean, modest " de laine ;" to the " genteel " 
shop-girl who, pitiably destitute of comfortable 
underclothes, yet always owns, a " dress hat," and 
swings about the last showy fashion in trimming, on 
some cheap fabric ; to the " genteel " cook who goes 
to market with her liair dressed as near as may be 
like her mistress, fastening it up with a brassy imita- 
tion of her gold comb; to the "genteel" seminary 
for young ladies, who ride to school in a carriage 
with liveried servants, their papa having formerly 
been one himself 

But a " genteel " chambermaid ! !N'ow, why should 
this patrician creature seek such a prosaic, vulgar 
occupation ? Could she be aware that chambermaids 
must wield brooms, and dust-pans, and scrubbing- 
brushes, and handle pokers, and shovel, and tongs, 
and ashes. ■ That they may even be asked to stand 
at the wash-tub, and be seen by the neighbors in the 
disgraceful occupation of hanging out clothes. That 
they may occasionally have to answer the door-bell 



Bridget as she Was^ and Is^ 111 

in an apron, and nslier finely-dressed ladies into the 
parlor ; or be asked to take a baby out for an airing, 
and be stamped at once by tbe public as a person 
wlio "works for a living." How can a "genteel" 
cbambermaid calmly contemplate suck degradation, 
least of all perform such duties faithfully and well ? 
Would not any sensible lady, wishing a chamber- 
maid, see at once that the thing was impossible? 
"Would she not know that she might ring her bell 
till the wire gave out, before this "genteel" young 
woman would think it expedient to answer it till she 
was ready? And when she sent her up stairs to tidy 
her chamber, would she not be sure that this " gen- 
teel " creature would probably spend the time in try- 
ing on her mistress' last new opera-hat before tlie 
toilet-glass ? And if she sent her out on an errand, 
involving even a moderately sized bundle, would 
not this "genteel" young woman probably take a 
circuitous route through back streets to hide her ig- 
nominy ? 

Heavens 1 what a relief it is to see people self- 
poised and satisfied with their honest occupations, 
making no attempt to veneer them over with a thin 
polish of gentility. Such I am happy to say there 
still are, in humble circumstances, notwithstanding 
the bad example constantly set them by the moneyed 
class in our country, who are servilely and snob- 
bishly bent on aping all the aristocratic absurdities 
of the old country. " Genteel /" Faugh ! even the 
detestable expression- word " rusT-rate " is music to 
my ears after it. 



112 Folly as it Flies, 

After all, I am not sure that my sympathies 
are not enlisted mncli more strongly on the side 
of servants than of their mistresses, who at any 
moment can show them the door at their capri- 
cious will, without a passport to any other place 
of shelter. Their lot is often at best a hard 
one ; — the best wages being 2, very inadequate equi- 
valent for the great gulf which, in many cases, 
separates the servant from her employer as effect- 
ually, as if her woman's nature had no need of 
human love and human sympathy ; as if she did not 
often bear her secret burden of sorrow with a hero- 
ism, which should cause a blush on the cheek of her 
who sits with folded hands in the parlor, all neglect- 
ful of woman's mission to her dependent sister. 
They who have listened vainly for kind words know 
how much they may lighten toil. They who have 
shut up in their aching hearts the grief which no 
friendly look or tone has ever unlocked, know how 
it will fester and rankle. They who have felt ^N^yj 
ounce of their flesh taxed unrelentingly day by day 
to the utmost, with no approving " well done " to 
lighten slumber when the heavy yoke is nightly cast 
down, know what is servitude of sou\ as well as body. 

I could wish that mistresses oftener thought of 
this ; oftener sat down in the gloomy, underground 
kitchen or basement, and inquired after the absent 
mother, or brother, or sister, in the old country; 
oftener placed in the toil-hardened hand the book or 
paper, or pamphlet, to shorten the tedious evening 
in the comfortless kitchen, while the merry laugh in 



Bridget as she Was, and Is, 113 

wliich the servant has no share, resounds from the 
cheerful parlor above. 

I do not forget that there are bad servants, as that 
there are unfeeling, inhuman mistresses who make 
them. I know that some are wasteful and improvi- 
dent; and I know, from experience, that there are 
cases where the sympathy and kindness I speak of 
are repaid with ingratitude ; but these are excep- 
tional cases ; and think how much hard usage from 
the world such an one must have received, ere all her 
sweet and womanly feelings could be thus blunted. 
I must think that a humane mistress generally makes a 
good servant I know that some of the servants of the 
present day dress ridiculously above their station, — 
so does often the mistress ; and why is a poor, unen- 
lightened girl more reproachable, for spending the 
wages of a month on a flimsy, gaudy bonnet, or 
dress, than is her employer, for trailing a seventy- 
five or one hundred dollar robe through ferryboats 
and omnibuses, while her grocer and milliner dun 
in vain for their bills ? 

Let the reform in this and other respects begin in 
the parlor. Our mothers and grandmothers were 
not always changing servants. They did not disdain 
to lend a helping hand, when a press of work, or 
company, made the burden of servitude too heavy. 
A headache in the kitchen, to them, meant the same 
as a headache in the parlor, and, Grod be thanked, a 
heart-ache too. The soul of a servant was of as 
much account as that of her mistress ; her creed was 
respected, and no elaborate dinner came between her 



114 Folly as it Flies, 

and tlie cli"arc1i-door. How can you expect such 
unfaltering, unswerving devotion to your interests, 
wlien you so wholly ignore theirs ? — when you spur 
and goad them on like beasts of burden, and with as 
little thought for their human wants and needs? 
ISTo wonder if you have poor service — eye-service. I 
would like to see you do better in their place. Lift 
up the cloud, and let the sun shine through into 
their underground homes, if it is not a mockery to 
use the word home. We exact too much — we give 
too little, — too little sympathy — too little kindness — 
too little encouragement. "Love thy neighbor as 
thyself" would settle it all. You don't do it — I 
don't do it, though I try to. Human laws may 
require only of the mistress that she pay her servant's 
wages punctually ; God's law requires much more — 
let conscience be its interpreter ; — then, and not till 
then, we shall have good servants. 



I SUPPOSE the most jealous fault-finders on this 
subject will concede that mistresses themselves are 
not quite perfect ; of course, they have often real 
causes of irritation and vexation apart from the 
kitchen, which, we are afraid, do not dispose them 
to look leniently upon any additional trouble there. 
A " flare ap " with Betty or Bridget, is apt to be the 
last drop in the bucket, the last feather in the bal- 
ance. But, unfortunately, it is not taken into 
account that Betty and Bridget, being human, may 
have their little world of hopes and joys, fears .and 



Bridget as she Was, and Is. 115 

sorrows, quite disconnected witTi yonr gridiron, and 
dustpan, and ash-barrel. They also have heads and 
backs to ache, and hearts too, though this may not 
always be taken into the account, by employers, 
who, satisfied with punctually paying the stipulated 
wages whea due, and getting as much as possible 
out of them as an equivalent, consider their duty 
ended. Some day your dinner is over or under 
cooked ; that day Bridget received a letter from the 
" old country " with a " black seal. " She did not come 
to you with her trouble ; why should she ? when she 
might have been a mere machine for any sympa- 
thetic word or look that has ever passed from your 
woman's heart or eyes to hers. All you know is 
that your dinner is overcooked, and a sharp rebuke 
follows, and from the fulness of a tried spirit an 
" impertinent " answer comes, and you show Bridget 
the door, preaching a sermon on the neglectfulness 
and insolence of servants. Had you been the mis- 
tress you should have been, Bridget would naturally 
have come to you with her trouble, and you would 
willingly have excused at such a time any little 
oversight in her duty to you, even though on that 
day you "had company to dinner." Take another 
case. On some day in the week, when the heaviest 
family labor falls due, your girl whose province it is 
to accomplish it, rises with an aching head, or limbs, 
as you sometimes do yourself, and as you do not, 
she rises from bed all the same as if she were well. 
As you have no use for your lips in the kitchen, 
save to give an order, and no eyes, save to look 



116 Folly as it Flies. 

after defects of economy or carefulness, you do not 
see her languid eyes, or ask the cause of any appar- 
ent dilatoriness ; you simply " hurry up" things gen- 
erally, and go up stairs. Now, suppose you had 
kindly asked the girl if she felt quite well, and find- 
ing she did not, offered to lift from her aching 
shoulders that day's burden ; suppose that ? why,- 
ten to one, it would have done her more good than 
could any doctor who ever took a degree, and the 
poor thing, under its inspiration, might actually have 
staggered through the day's work, had you been so 
cruel as to allow her. 

I wish mistresses would sometimes ask themselves 
how long, under the depressing conditions and cir- 
cumstances of servitude above alluded to, they could 
render faithful conscientious labor? Feeling that 
doing well, there was no word of praise ; and that 
doing ill, there was no excuse or palliation ; that 
falling sick or disabled, from over work or natural 
causes, there was no sympathy, but only nervous 
anxiety for a speedy substitute. 

Again. Many mistresses utterly object to "a 
beau " in the kitchen. Now could anything be more 
unnatural and absurd than this? though, of course, 
there should be limitations as to late hours. Mar- 
riage, with many of these domestics, is the heaven 
of rest and independence to which they look for- 
ward ; and even if they are to work quite as hard 
"for a living," as a poor man's wife, as they have 
for you, they may possibly have, as wives — heaven 
help them — a little love -to sweeten it ; and surely 



Bridget as she Was^ and Is. 117 

no wife or mother sliould shut her heart utterly to 
this view of the case. As to the girl's "bettering 
herself," let her take the chances, if she chooses, as 
you have. Possibly, some lady who reads this may 
say, oh, all this talk about servants is nonsense. 
I've often petted girls till I have spoiled them, and 
it is of no use. Yery true, madam, " petting " is of 
no use ; but it z^ of use to treat them at all times kind- 
ly, and humanely, and above all things justly^ as we 
— women — ^in their places, should wish to be treated 
ourselves. It is of use to make a little sunshine in 
those gloomy kitchens, by a kind good night, or good 
morning, or some such recognition of their presence, 
other than a desire to be waited upon. It is of use, 
when they are sick or down-hearted, to turn to, not 
from them. All this can be done, and not "spoil 
them. And how much, better, even as far as your- 
self is concerned, to feel that their service is that of 
love and good-will, instead of mere •^' eye-service." 
A lady once asked a servant for her references. 
There was more justice and less " impertinence," 
than appears at the first blush, in her reply, " and 
where are yours^ ma'am ?" 




A CHAPTER ON TOBACCO. 



HATE Tobacco. I donH hate all its devotees. 

W:^^^0\ no. In its ranks are men wlio would 

^Sc- gladly die for their cpnntry if need be ; and 

yet no slave whom they would lay down a life to free, 

shall be more truly a slave, than are these patriots to 

the tyrant Tobacco. 

"Well — what then ? manhood inquires, with his hat 
cocked defiantly, and his arms a-kimbo. What 
then ? Only this : we women so wish you hadn't so 
disgusting and dirty a habit Now reach out your 
hand, take a seat beside me, and let me talk to you 
about it. 

In the first place, bear with a little egotism. I 
am not six feet high ; I belong to no Woman's 
Eights Convention, if that be a crime in your eyes. 
I'm just a merry woman, four feet in stature, who 
would much rather love than hate everything and 
everybody in this lovely world, if I could ; who had. 
much rather have friends than enemies if I could, 
without muzzling my thoughts, or my pen. 

If not — I am going to shut up my umbrella, and 
let the shower come. I hate tobacco. I am a clean 
creature, and it smells bad. Smells is a mild word ; 
but I will use it, being a woman. I deny your right 
to smell bad in my presence, or the presence of any 



A Chapter on Tobacco, 119 

of our clean sisterliood. I deny your right to poison 
the air of onr parlors, or onr bed-rooms, with your 
breath, or your tobacco-saturated clothing, even 
though you vfiay be our husbands. Terrible crea- 
ture ! I think I hear you say ; I am glad you are not 
my wife. So am I. How would you like it, had 
you arranged your parlor with dainty fingers, and 
were rejoicing in the sweet-scented mignonette, and 
violets, and heliotrope, in the pretty vase on your 
table — forgetting in your happiness that Bridget and 
Biddy had vexed your soul the greater part of the 
day — and in your nicely-cushioned chair, were rest- 
ing your sphit even more than your body, to have a 
man enter, with that detestable bar-room odor, and 
spoil it all ? Or worse : light a cigar or pipe in your 
very presence, and puff away as if it were the heaven 
to you which it appears to be to him. The '' Guide 
to Women " would tell you that you should " let 
him smoke, for fear he might do worse." Suppose 
we try that boot on the other foot, and let women 
drink for the same reason? Of course you see, to 
begin with, that I consider woman as much an indi: 
vidual as her husband. With just as much right to 
an opinion, a taste, a smell, or a preference of any 
kind, as himself; and just as much right to express 
and maintain it, if she see fit. Now, to my belief, 
drinking would brutify her physically and morally 
no quicker than tobacco does him. Because a man 
is able to stand on his two legs, it does not follow 
that his perceptions are clear ; that his temper is not 
irritable, or morose ; that his vitality by long abuse 



120 Folly as it Flies, 

is not nearly exTiausted, and that, when lie should be 
in the prime and vigor of a glorious manhood- It 
does not follow that there are not empty chairs 
around his table, and little graves in the church- 
yard, for which he is responsible. It does not follow 
that a sharp answer, a careless indifference, has not 
taken the place of loving words and an earnest desire 
to contribute his share of sunlight in his home. 
"When I say that tobacco hrutifies its devotees, I 
know what I am talking about. When a man car- 
ries his lighted pipe, or cigar, into the bed-room of a 
sick child, to whom pure air is life or death, we may 
infer that his selfishness in this regard has reached 
its climax. Or when he continues to smoke in the 
presence of his wife, knowing that sick headache is 
the sure result, we may draw the same inference. 
Not to mention that your smoker always selects the 
pleasantest window, or the best seat on a piazza, or 
the shadiest seat under a tree, forcing the ladies of 
the family, or the circle, wherever he is, to breathe 
this bad odor, or remove to some other locality. 
Nor does the bland ^'- 1 trust this is not unpleasant to 
youj"^ help the matter ; while women, so much more 
magnanimous than men, receive this reward for their 
" polite " evasion of the subject 



I GO into a newspaper store to piu'chase a maga- 
zine ; there stands a gentleman (?) at my side with a 
lighted cigar in his mouth, coolly looking over the 



A Chapter on Tobacco, 121 

papers at his leisure. If I beat a hasty retreat to 
another establishment of the same kind, I find other 
gentlemen (?) similarly employed. If I get into a 
street car, even if no one is " smoking npon the plat- 
form," five out of ten of the male passengers will 
have parted with their cigars only at the moment of 
entering, poisoning still further the close car-atmos- 
phere with this hated ef&uvia. At places of evening 
amusement, concerts, lectures and the like, the same 
thing occurs ; indeed, they often repeat the horror 
by renewing the tobacco-smoke in the intervals 
during the performance. If I walk in the street, 
vile breaths are puffed in my face from pipes or 
cigars by every second gentleman (?) who passes. I 
am getting sick of " gentlemen /" it would be a relief 
if the great showman would advertise us a man. If 
a ''gentleman" comes in to make an evening call, 
he deposits his cigar stump on your front steps just 
before entering, and very likely lights another in 
your front entry before departing. The man who 
brings you a parcel, often stands in the entry 
smoking, while waiting further orders. The emis- 
sary of the butcher, or grocer, perfumes your kitchen 
and area in the same manner. Your cook's male 
" cousin " smokes when he makes his evening calls. 
In the railroad car you are stifled with the remains 
of tobacco-smoke. In steamboats, in hotels, it is the 
same, whensoever a male creature enters. If a lady 
exerts herself to get up, or oversee, or engineer, a 
nice dinner for some gentleman (?) friends of her 
husband's, they prove their appreciation of her good 
6 



122 Folly as it Flies, 

dinner and lier good company, by retiring to another 
room tlian that the hostess is in, the moment they 
have eaten to satiety, in order that they may smoke 
till it is time to leave her very hospitable house. 

Said a prominent editor one day to me : '' You 
are right, madam, the moment a man becomes 
wedded to tobacco ^he becomes a — hog 1" This is a 
strong way of putting it, but the subject is strong in 
every sense. Physicians will tell you that men who 
would resent the imputation that they were not good 
husbands and fathers, will selfishly poison the air of 
a sick-room and distress the breathing of the invalid 
without remorse. I repeat it, I am firmly of the 
opinion, that tobacco brutifies equally with drinlr. 
The process may be slower, but it is just as sure. 
A drunkard will sometimes own that drink hurts 
him ; or that he drinks too much ; or would be 
better without it ; a smoker never. 'Tis true, he will 
admit that Tom Jones, or Sam Smith, smokes too 
much ; but not that lie ever did, or shall. In fact, 
he is sure that in Ms case tobacco is beneficial ; ''it 
soothes him when he is irritable," which, thanks to 
tobacco, is so often, that the soothing process is 
perpetual. A man said one day to his comrade in 
the street cars, " Tom, I really think I should have 
given up smoking long since, had not my wife con- 
stantly said it was so disagreeable." What better 
proof could he have given of" its bru.talizing ten- 
dency ? 

I know no place where "smoking not allowed," is 
not a dead letter, except in church. Even there the 



A Chapter on Tobacco, 123 

cigar stump is often tossed away at tlie cliurcli porcli, 
and men sit impatiently fingering the vile weed 
wliicli is destined to console them, the minute the 
benediction shall have been pronounced ; now, when 
a gentleman (?) becomes so enslaved by this bad 
habit, that neither the disgust of the female inmates 
of his own house, or other houses, who suffer by it, 
fails to move him, even though they may not, for 
the sake of peace, complain ; and when the terrible 
sight of this smoker's own little son, already going 
to and from school with cigar and satchel in com- 
pany, does not shame him; when any society, 
how intelligent soever, is distasteful, nay, unbearable 
to him, where tobacco is not permitted, for one 
I would not toss up a pin for the choice between 
that man and a drunkard. 



People say: Whence all these matinees of 
all kinds, operatic and other, that are springing 
up in our cities ? I answer — Tobacco ! *' No 
smoking allowed here " — ^if over the entrance of 
Paradise — and the men would prefer their pipe with 
the accompaniment of the infernal regions. A man 
can't very well talk with a pipe in his mouth. If a 
pipe he prefers to all things else, from the time he 
returns to his house at night till he goes to bed, his 
wife naturally wearies of watching that smoke 
curl, though she may be an angel in his eyes in 
every other respect. It is dull music, after the petty 
little musquito-stinging household cares of the day, 



124 Folly as it Flies, 

to whicli even the best motliers and most capable 
housekeepers are subject, in a greater or less degree. 
" When he lights that cigar every night I want to 
scream," said a lovely woman to me. " I am 50 tired 
of the house at night ; I want him to talk to me, or 
go out with me ; I should take hold of my cares and 
duties the next day with so much more heart if he 
did. I love my home ; I love my babies ; I love 
my husband ; but oh, he dorUt know how tii-ed and 
nervous I often get by night, and that silence, and 
that suffocating smoke, are so intolerable to me 
then." Why don't she say so? you ask. Why? 
because women are so hungry for a little love, and 
find it so impossible to live without it, that they 
often endure any amount of this kind of selfishness 
rather than hazard its loss for a day. Now, is this 
right ? Is it what a wife is entitled to, after trying 
all day to make home bright and happy for her 
husband ? 

'' And all this fuss about a little smoke,,". I hear 
Tom exclaim. *^' 

Not exactly. It is the injustice of men toward 
women for which it stands the horrible, nauseating 
symbol Suppose your wife, fancying the smell of 
asafoetida, should keep an uncorked phial of it in her 
parlor and bed-room ? How long would you stand 
it ? Suppose she should smoke herself or " dip " in 
self-defence? Suppose that sweet breath were to 
become nauseous ? her curls unbearable in near 
proximity? Suppose she grew slatternly in her 
habits in consequence, as aU smokers eventually do ? 



A Chapter on Tobacco. 125 

Suppose her little baby's clothes were saturated 
with tobacco? In short, -that* joii-wwe!'e ^agusted 
with its presence or results every hour in the'" twenty- 
four, as you would be in your wife's case. 

Now I ask, isn't it just as much a man's duty to 
be clean and presentable and inviting to his wife, as 
it is hers toward him ? Well, replies Tom, men 
don't look at the subject in that way, and never will, 
and now, what are you going to do about it ? 

Me? nothing. The men will continue toput.jip 
their heels at night, and smoke till bed-time, and 
think it a bore to go out, i. e. with their wives, and 
the disgustedi' women, who really ^^a?2^ to be good 
,^dves, and- would, if their husbands were more just 
andn^^iii^ will go as they have begun to do, to.,^e 
next days operatic matinee for.-relaxation ; andraftei; 
the matinee, a cup of chocolate or an ice-cream tastes 
well; and sometimes one meets an agreeable male 
friend there, who does not prefer a solitary pipe or a 
cigar to a little bright and enlivening conversation 
with this tired lady. 

Women have a right to protest against that which 
withdraws husbands, fathers and brothers from their 
society as soon as they cross the threshold of home, 
or else dooms them to inhale a nauseous atmosphere, 
and watch the unsocial j)uff — puff — which is mono- 
tonous enough to drive any woman crazy who 
already has had quite too much monotony during 
the day, and finds little variety enough, in watching 
the curl from that eternal pipe. I blame no woman 
whose only evening amusement is this, after her 



126 Folly as it Flies. 

children are put to sleep, for protesting, and roundly 
too, against such unmitigated selfishness ; I blame 
no woman, whose husband, when he does occasion- 
ally drum up sufficient vitality to wait upon her 
out, for requesting that the omnipresent pipe or cigar 
may for once be dispensed with, as she takes his 
arm, on that memorable occasion. As I said before, 
men become so utterly brutified by this disgusting 
habit, that they lose all sense of politeness and clean- 
liness. It is quite time they were reminded of it 



GIVB THE GONVIGTS A CHANGE. 

\W ^^^^^ ^^ ^^ "t^^t o^ ^11 tlie charities in oiir 
'^T^^ great city, none is more deserving of the at- 
^ipi^ tention of the benevolent, than that which 
takes the little children of our poor, from the moral 
and physical filth of their wretched surroundings, 
and places them in healthy, pure homes in the coun- 
try. Ko one, who has ever had heart and courage 
to penetrate the terrible lanes, alleys and by-ways of 
poverty and crime in New York, but asks himself 
with a shudder, as he looks at the little ones there, 
what sort of men and women will these children be ? 
How far will He who counteth the fall of the spar- 
row, hold them res^Donsible for the di'eadful teachings 
of their infancy? Infancy? the word is a mockery. 
They have none. To feign — to cheat — to steal — 
this is their alphabet As to the fathers and mothers, 
who fold their lazy hands and sit down in these pes- 
tiferous places to await the " penny " pittances then- 
cliildren may collect, or their little pilferings which 
may be turned into " pennies," the sooner the doors 
of our jails and penitentiaries close on them the bet- 
ter. Their case is hopeless ; since sin has reached 
its climax when it deliberately and systematically 
debauches childhood But the little ones? They 



128 Folly as it Flies, 

might be saved. They are being saved; that's a 
comfort to know. Daily they are being collected, 
by good men who make it their chief occnpation to 
wash, feed, clothe and transplant these sickly shoots 
of poverty, into the fair garden of the West Many 
a farmer's family there has a rosy face by its hearth, 
which you would never recognize to be the squalid 
little creature, whose shivering palm was extended to 
you at midnight, as you returned home from some 
place of amusement in the city. There it is being 
taught useful and happy labor. There is pure air — 
sweet food, and enough of it. Good company and 
good books. There are Sundays. Blessed be Sun- 
days! for injudiciously as they are sometimes ob- 
served even by good people, be sure that sweet old 
hymn will go singing through the future life of these 
children, like a golden thread, gleaming out from 
the dark woof of care and trouble : 

"Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee ; 
E'en though it be a cross 

That raiseth me, 
Still all my song shall be, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee, " 

ISTo matter where they go, this hymn, and others 
like it, shall go with them ; cleansing and purifying, 
like a breath of sweet air, all the dreadful remem- 
brances of that foul home from which they were 
rescued. Think what it were to change the life, 
temporal and eternal, of one such child ! And God 



Give the Convicts a Chance, 129 

be praised, the mirnber of the saved is Legion. How 
like a dreadful dream to the girl, in a happy home 
of her own, with her own innocent baby on its fa- 
ther's knee, will be tbe pit of degradation^ where, but 
for this charity, slie might have been lost. She rea- 
lizes it fully now, when she looks into her little 
baby's face, and grows chill with fear as she kisses it. 
And her brother ! the hale, sturdy-honest, well-to-do 
farmer, who comes in of an evening to talk about Ms 
farm and his crops, and his barns full of plenty — can 
that be Johnny? once with the hat guiltless of a 
brim, the coat with one flap, the trousers with half a 
leg, and the mouth full of oaths and obscenity ! Can 
that be Johnny, who dodged policemen so adroitly, 
and was on the high road to the gallows in short 
jackets? This is not fiction. This is not imagina- 
tion. The biographies of great men and women will 
yet adorn your library shelves, whose childhood had 
such rescuing as this. One gets the heart-ache at 
every step in New York, if he has eyes or ears for 
aught save Mammon ; and yet how like sun-beams, 
now and then, across this darkness, comes some no- 
ble charity, of whose existence you knew nothing, 
till some unpretentious sign arrests the eye, in some 
street never before travelled by you in your daily 
rounds — some " Asylum," or " Eetreat," or '' Home," 
or Hospital, at whose gate Mercy stands with out- 
stretched arms, nor asks the poor unfortunate whom 
it shelters, its creed or its nationality, but says only 
— Here is comfort and help. 

This much coucerning organized Charities. But 



130 Folly as it Flies, 

of tlie noble women, and men, too, wTio daily and 
quietly stretch ont helping hands, giving time and 
money, without other reward than the satisfaction 
such acts bring to a kind heart — of them, surely 
there is One who will keep record. 



I SEE other signs of the millennium. In Massa- 
chusetts they have Evening Lectures for the benefit 
of the convicts in the State Prison. I shall never 
forget my tour through a State Prison, one, bright 
summer day. The hopeless faces of the men in the 
workshops. Their sullen looks when by twos they 
marched in long procession across the yard, under 
guard, to their dinner. I shall never forget the poor 
wretches in the carding-room, breathing all day, and 
every day, the little fuzzy, floating particles, which 
set me coughing painfully the moment I entered the 
door ; and when I asked the attendant if it did not 
injure their lungs, the cool matter-of-fact manner in 
which he answered, "Yes — they didn't live very 
long." I remember well the horrid, contracted cells, 
against whose walls I know I should have dashed 
out my brains, were I locked in long enough. ' And 
well too could I understand what a horror Sunday 
must be, imprisoned there, all day, with only the in- 
terval of an hour of church ; alone with torturing 
memories ; till they prayed for the light of Monday 
morning and work — work! — ever so hard work, so 
that it only brought contact and companionship 
with their kind, speechless though it were. 



Give the Convicts a Chance, 131 

I remember, too, being told, on inquiry, tliat the 
convicts were allowed books to read in tlieir cells on 
Sunday ; but on examination of tlie cells, I found 
many so dark that even at midday the offer of 
"books to read" would have been a mere mockery. 
I remember, too, the emaciated, hollow-eyed sick 
men, lounging on benches in the yard, and, when I 
pitied them, being told that they often "feigned 
sickness." Heaven knows I should not have blamed 
them for feigning anything, when humanity so slept 
that visitors were told in their hearing of their crimes, 
as they were severally pointed out, and their names 
and former professions and places of residence given ; 
kere a doctor, there a minister, who had fallen from 
graca 

Surely, thought I, there must come a time when a 
better way than this shall be found to " reform " men. 
Surely it can never be done by driving them mad 
with unrelieved severity like this. For I remem- 
bered a letter I received from a convict, to whom 
some printed word' of mine had accidentally floated 
through his prison I5ars, and "helped him," so he 
wrote me, " to bear up till the time for his release 
came, when he hoped to be a better man." 

Had I never written but that one word, I am glad 
to have lived for that man's sake. 

And now what a change ! These poor crecvw-es, 
instead of darkness and solitude — with hat^., and re- 
venge, and despair maddening them— »h^Y^. evening 
lectures for their profit and encouragome|it. Some- 
thing to thhik about in the long hQil?a gf wakefulness 



132 Folly as it Flies, 

and sickness ; sometHng to look forward to when 
tke day's unrewarded toil is done ; something to rout 
tlie demons that crouch, in their cells and wait their 
coming at night, till any other hell than this would 
seem heaven. Let us hope that" the example of good 
old Massachusetts in this and many other praise- 
worthy regards may be widely imitated. 

Surely as God lives, there is a window in the soul 
of every debased man and woman, at which Love 
and Mercy may knock and whisper, and be heard. 
Nor can warden or overseer or chaplain ever be sure 
that from those convict cells is not issuing the stifled 
pry — ^JSTo man cares for my soul. 



A GLANCE AT WASHINGTON, 




HA YE no means of judging wliat "Wash- 
^vAc^ ington may look like in snnnj weather; 
"^^^^ sleet and rain having combined on my visit 
there, for a " spell " of the most detestable weather 
ever encountered by a traveller. The streets were a 
quaking jelly of mud, filled with a motley procession 
of dirt-incrusted army- wagons, drawn by wretched- 
looking horses, the original color of whose hide was 
known only to their owners. Military men swarmed 
on the sidewalks, gossipped on the steps of public 
buildings, filled hotel entries, parlors and dining- 
rooms, and splashed through mud-puddles with a 
recklessness born of camp-initiation. To escape from 
wet sidewalks into street-cars was t'o wade to them 
literally ankle-deep in mud-jelly. To the resolute, 
however, all things are possible; especially when 
millinery and dry-goods are counted as naught; I 
went there to see what was to be seen, and I saw it. 
The night before I visited the Capitol there came 
a heavy fall of snow ; and the long avenues of trees 
leading to it looked vgry beantiful, bending under 
their pure white burden, or tossing it lightly off, as 
the wind swept by. Every garden seat had a round 
white cushion, every statue a snow-crown. No art 



134 Folly as it Flies, 

of man could liave improved upon tliis festal adorn- 
ing of nature. The " prospect from the dome " we 
had to take, by faith, more's the pity, the snow-king 
having drawn a veil over it. Of course I stared 
about the Kotunda, like my betters. As I have 
never " been abroad," I suppose I am not entitled to 
an opinion upon the pictures I saw there ; but it did 
strike me that De Soto, t'le discoverer of the Missis- 
sippi Eiver, who travelled through the wilderness for 
that purpose, thousands of miles, exposed to all 
dangers and weathers ; who lost cattle and men by 
fatigue and famine, and was otherwise harassed to 
the verge of dissolution, could not, at the moment, 
when success crowned his efforts, have been found 
in a rich crimson jacket with slashed Spanish 
sleeves, and silk stockings drawn over well-rounded 
calves, and an immaculate head of hair, looking as 
if it had just emerged from a fashionable barber's 
shop. I say it struck me so, but then I'm " only a 
woman," and have never been to Italy. It struck 
me also that their rags, and their dirt, and their 
uncombed locks, and their jaded horses, would 
have looked quite as picturesque, and -had the added 
advantage of being true to nature. It occurred to 
me also that some of the horses of the victorious 
generals in the other pictures were very impossible 
animals, but that may be owing to some defect in 
my early education. I could not help thinking that 
our great-great-great-grand children might possibly 
wish that we had left the art-selection to themselves. 
It won't matter much to us then, however. 



A Glance at Washingto7i, 135 

How patriotic I felt wliep. I stood on the floor of 
the Senate ! A minute more, and I should have 
forgotten mj bonnet, and made a speech myself It 
might not have been " in order," but I think it 
wonld have been listened to while it lasted, though 
when my enthusiasm was over, I should probably 
have collapsed into shamefaced consciousness, very 
much as do the restored breathers of " the laughing 
gas." I never heard a more eloquent or appropriate 
prayer than was offered at the opening of the Senate, 
that day, by a clergj-man, whose name I did not 
learn. Years ago, and what clergyman would have 
dared utter such bold words in such a place ? There 
were no speeches made that morning ; and there was 
no need ; the place itself was inspiration. My 
breath came quick as I looked about me. 

As to the " White House," I have no doubt that 
the upholstery and carpets are all right — also the 
chandeliers. For myself I coveted the green-house 
and garden, and the fine piazza at the back of the 
house, with its view of Arlington Heights and the 
white tents of the encampment in the distance. The 
" East Eoom," with its Parisian carpet, would have 
astonished the ghost of Mrs. John Adams, who used 
to dry her clothes there, when it was in an unfin- 
ished state. How very strange it looked to see sen- 
tinels on duty before the doors ; one realizes that 
there "is war," when in Washington and its sur- 
roundings, where railroad gates and public buildings 
are guarded, and at every few miles of road up starts 
a sentinel, and camps are so plentiful that one ceases 
to regard them with a curious eye. 



136 Folly as it Flies, 

After walking througli tlie Patent Office at 
Washington, I had several reflections. First, a 
feeling of thankfulness that our innocent ancestors 
died without knowing how uncomfortable they were, 
— minus these modern improvements. Secondly, 
how many heads must have ached, hatching out 
the ideas there practically perfected. Thirdly, did 
the real inventors themselves reap any reward, 
pecuniary or otherwise, or, having died '' ma- 
king an effort," did some charlatan, with more 
money than brains, filch their discovery and, attach- 
ing his name to it, secure both fame and gold ? 

Leaving these vexed questions unsettled, the 
place is of rare interest even to the ordinary curiosity- 
hunter, destitute either of philosophical or mechan- 
ical proclivities. Looking at General Washington's 
relics, one cannot but be struck with the simple 
tastes of that time. The plates, knives and chairs, 
which formed part of his household furniture, would 
— apart from their associations — be sniffed at in any 
fashionable mansion of the present day. And as to 
his camp-chest and writing-desk, every mother's 
18 62 -pet, whose budding moustache is half demol- 
ished by parting kisses, is provided with a better as 
he goes to "the war." And Washington's coat, 
waistcoat and breeches are of a fabric so coarse, that 
our present officials would decline wearing the like 
except under compulsion. The same may be said 
of the coat worn by the immortal General Jackson ; 
at the mention of whose name I will forever remove 
my bonnet, for his unswerving loyalty toward, and 



A Glance at Washington. 137 

manly defence of, Ms zealously slandered wife. 
Alas for some of the pluck and spirit tliat animated 
the sometime wearers of those faded old military 
clothes. But it is too aggravating a theme ; though 
I did linger over those military buttons, with divers 
little thoughts which I should like to have whis- 
pered into the President's ear, and which, if properly 
carried out, would no doubt save this nation ! 

As to the fifteen flashy silk robes presented by 
the Japanese government to ours, I had no desire to 
get into them. A strange soldier standing near 
while I was gazing, stepped up, and with camp 
frankness said to me : " now I suppose, being a 
lady, you can form some idea of the value of those 
things." "Oh, yes," said I, "they are like the 
bonnets of to-day, expensive in proportion to their 
ugliness." Penetrated by the wisdom of my reply, 
he answered feelingly, ''^ Just so^" — and touching his 
cap, passed on. Among General Washington's 
relics I saw a cane presented to him by Franklin, 
and a chandelier presented to Washington by some 
French magnate, so awkward, inferior and crude, 
compared with the splendid affairs of the present 
day, that one compassionately wishes, for the donor's 
sake, that his name were withheld. I saw also, under 
glass, the original treaties of several foreign nations, 
French and others, with our government. The 
autographic signatures of great potentates, yellow 
with time, was suggestive. The models of steam- 
engines, revolvers, torpedoes, mowing-machines and 
excavators, were " too many for me ;" T might have 



138 Folly as it Flies, 

looked wise over tliem, to be sure, like other folks, 
but had I stood staring till the millennium I couldn't 
have comprehended them, so where was the use 
of shamming ? I just said, that's not in my 
line, and inspected the different varieties of hoop- 
skirts ; and though the masculine mind may not 
recognize the fact, the perfection to which those 
things have arrived by gradual stages is comforting 
to contemplate. I say " comforting " advisedly ; 
because if one must drag round so many yards of 
dry goods, a cage is better adapted to hang them on 
than the human hips. It is my opinion that not- 
withstanding the torrent of abuse to which the hoop 
is and has been subjected, it will never be dropped— 
save at bed- time. 



It is a melancholy affair to visit public in- 
stitutions that have sprung from the legacies of 
wealthy persons, so often do they fail to carry out 
the philanthropic results so enthusiastically pro- 
grammed by the donors. This reflection seemed to 
me not out of place when leaving the Smithsonian 
Institute in Washington. The building itself is line, 
and favorably located, and the grounds about it very 
attractive ; but dust-covered statues, cobwebs, and a 
general and indescribable air of inefficiency in the 
interior, were painfully palpable, and stood as a type 
of other posthumous charities which have come 
under my notice. In fact, " wills " oftener turn out, 
" wonts " than one imagines, codiciled and guarded 



A Glance at Washington, 139 

as they may be by the best hnman ingenuity and 
foresight. Snakes are not the only wriggling ani- 
mals, and dead men are happy in not being able to 
return to their old haunts. Some of the pictured 
celebrities in the place would have leaped from their 
frames, had they heard the irreverent bystanders, 
who where " doing " the lions, asking who they 
were, and gaping at the guide-book recital of their 
greatness and goodness, from some companion ; or 
turning an indijfferent joke, in the middle of the nar- 
ration, upon the cut of the pictured coat, or hair, or 
beard. It was an excellent comment upon the wear- 
ing, toil and fret of ambition, which eats the heart 
out of life, and often sets aside everything worth 
living for, to gain — a name. The collection of ani- 
mals there would be interesting doubtless to the 
naturalist ; but we often wonder who hut he, could 
take pleasure in bottled snakes, sprawling, impaled 
bugs, and stuffed monkeys and baboons. ' As to the 
latter, they are too painful a burlesque upon human 
beings, to be regarded with complacency. Their 
horrible and fiendish exaggeration of some faces, 
which all of us have, once or more, in our lives met, 
is anything but agreeable. The collection of stuffed 
birds in this place is exquisitely beautiful. One 
lingers tliere^ oblivious of wide-mouthed, hungry- 
looking bears, standing on their hind legs, or grin- 
ning skulls of Indians, or other delightful monstrosi- 
ties. These brilliant birds, orange with black wings, 
or scarlet wings with black bodies, or drab with 
bright little heads, or with the whole body of the 



140 Folly as it Flies, 

loveliest blue, were beautiful as tlie most brilliant 
bued bouquet. So perfectly were they prepared 
and mounted, tbat one waited expectant for a sweet 
trill, or an upward flight. There was also a very 
curious and pretty exhibition of bird's eggs, of every 
size and color, some of them " cuddled" comfortably- 
in little nests. I would have agreed to leave to the 
Institution the numerous and precious volumes of 
" De Bow's Keview " which graced it, for the liberty 
of appropriating those bright birds and those pretty 
eggs. 

One feature in the place was quite novel. Speci- 
mens framed under glass of the hair of some of the 
Presidents of the United States. Either these gentle- 
men were not liberally endowed with this commodity, 
or inveterate lion-hunters had taught them a niggardly 
caution on the distribution of this article, in view of 
baldness or a future wig ; for under the names of 
some of them were only four or six hairs. Most of 
them were white or grey; suggestive of rather 
equivalent repose, for the craniums from whence 
they sprang. Of course, one's organ of reverence 
would not admit in this case the possibility of the 
trick adopted by " pestered " celebrities — attacked in 
the hair — viz i wickedly substituting something else 
for the original coveted article. Of course not ! As to 
the soldiers and military men passing through Wash- 
ington, they must be pleased to know how comfort- 
ably they can be " embalmed," should a chance shot 
render it necessary. Large signs to this effect, con- 
spicuously placed, and running the whole length of a 



A Glance at Washington, 141 

block, stare them remindingly in the face, at every 
turn. As' to Jackson's equestrian statue, fronting 
the President's house, I opine that nobody hut Gen- 
eral Jackson could have sat on a horse's back in that 
rearing condition, without slipping backward over 
the tail. However, one forgives everything to an 
admirer of General Jackson ; and the sculptor evi- 
dently had strong faith in his omnipotence, as well 
as in the wonderfal upward, danger-defying curve 
of his unique horse's tail ! 




GLIMPSES OF CAMP LIFE IN WAB TIME, 



VISIT to the head-quarters of an executive 
General is a means of grace. I recommend 
it to all ladies who, year after year, closing 
their disgusted ears to what limpingly passes below 
stairs, accept its dawdling results as inevitable. For 
my own part, my back is up. So imbued am I with 
the moral beauty of military discipline, that unless I 
can inaugurate its counterpart from garret to cellar, I 
shall return in disgust to army-life. 

The idea struck me forcibly one morning before 
breakfast as I stepped out into the bright sunshine, 
to behold a captain drilling his company for the day. 
As each musket was presented for inspection, turned 
quickly from one side to the other, and tossed lightly 
back into its owner's waiting hands, I rushed back 
to tent and exclaimed : " Greneral, can you give any 
reason why we ladies shouldn't do with our pots, 
pans and gridirons, each day, what your captain is 
doing yonder with the muskets of his men ; and with 
a ' guard-house ' to back us up in case of deflxult or 
impertinence." "Why — don't you ladies insprct 
your pots, pans and gridirons?" inquired Geneial 
Butler. " When ouj cooks are out^ never for our 



Glimpse of Camp Life, 143 

lives else," I replied. " Poor slaves 1" was his feel- 
ing reply. 

" Poor slaves !" I echoed, as I returned to my 
lovely " drill " and grew more righteously mad each 
minute. As I stood there, my dears, I for one 
resolved never again to be the pusillanimous wretch 
to say, "If you please, Martha," or "will you please, 
Bridget, bring me this or that." No — ^instead, I 
boldly propose: "Orderly! bring me that baby!" 
and when Bridget comes in, with a well-feigned 
sorrow for the decease of that stereotyped " friend " 
who is always waiting to be "waked," and begs 
leave of absence, let us answer, a la Tnilitaire^ " Yes 
— you can go for awhile ; but your ' friend ' is not 
dead, neither are you going to a wake. I want you 
to understand that I am not deceived." And when, 
after repeated instructions, the roast-beef is still over- 
done, with executive forefinger let us touch the bell, 
and in the lowest but firmest of tones remark, " Or- 
derly ! put the cook in the guard-house." 

But stay — women can never manage women that 
way. They are too cat-ty. Let us have men-cooks, 
my dears, and science as well as civility with our 
sauce. Yea — men-Qooks^ who will not "answer 
back ;" men-cooks who will not need to be an hour 
at the glass "prinking" before they can look a 
tomato in the face ; men-cooks, who, having once 
done a thing "your way," can ever after reproduce 
it, and not, with feminine caprice, or heedlessness, 
each time lessen the sugar and double the salt, and 
vice- versa ; me/i-cooks, whose " beaux " are not 



144 Folly as it Flies, 

always occupying the extra kitchen chair; men- 
cooks, who understand the economy of space, and do 
not need a whole closet for every tumbler, or a 
bureau-drawer for each towel. 

Oh! I have not been *'to camp" for nothing. 
There are no carpets there to spot with grease. There 
are no pictures whose golden frames are wiped with 
a wet dish-cloth. There are no velvet chairs, or 
ottomans, upon which they can lay red-hot pokers 
or entry-mats. There is no pet china they can elec- 
trify the parlor with smashing, to the tune of hun- 
dreds of dollars. But instead, there are little tents 
dotted about, furnished with brave men; and for 
pictures, long lines of army wagons trailing their 
slow length along ; and yonder, against the burnished 
sunset sky, gallop the cavalry, with glittering arms ; 
and there are " squads " of secesh coming into the 
lines, with most astounding hats and trowsers and 
no shoes, who hold up the wrong hand when they 
take the oath of allegiance, and make their " mark " 
in the registry book instead of writing their names, 
and some of whose "profession," when questioned, is 
— " to shoemake ;" and there are grotesque-looking 
contrabands ; and rat-ty looking, useful mules ; and 
in the evening there are fire-fly lamps gleaming from 
the little tents ; and of a cool evening lovely, blazing 
camp-fires, round which you can sit and talk with 
intelligent men till the small hours, about other 
things than " bonnets ;" and there's reveille, and — 
good heavens ! why did I come back to New York, 
with its "peace-men" and its tame monkeys. 



Glimpse of Camp Life, 145 

While waiting at City Point for the " flag-of- 
truce boat," we sauntered up from the wharf. 
There was an encampment not far from the river, 
and the first thing that attracted mj notice was a 
sutler's establishment — in other words, a little shed 
with a counter, two men behind it, and a little bit 
of everything displayed inside. " Now," said I, " I 
will just bother that man asking him for something 
which I am sure he has not for sale." "Do it," 
answered my companion ; "I will wager something 
he will have it." With triumph in my step, I 
inquired — " Have you ladies' fans ?" " Yes ma'am,' 
was the reply ; " here is one, made in prison by a 
Union soldier." In. my eagerness to secure it, for it 
was a marvel of ingenuity, apart from the interest 
attached to it, I forgot to collapse at my defeat — 
doubly defeated, too, alas ! "as it was not for sale." 
But there were boohs, and tobacco, and combs, and 
susjDcnders, and pocket looking-glasses, and every- 
thing, except " crying babies." A little farther on 
was a soda-fountain, then- a watch-maker, then an 
ice-cream shanty. Still I was not surprised ; for I 
lost my capability for a new sensation while staying 
in Greneral Butler's encampment. Strolling off, one 
lovely morning, in the woods, for wild-fiowers, I was 
overtaken by a shower of rain. Spying a little shed 
at a distance under the trees, I made for it with all 
speed ; and found it full of bottles and a young man. 
The latter politely rose and offered me the only 
stool in the establishment, and when I and my hoop- 
skirt had entered, I regret to say that there was no 



146 Folly as it Flies, 

room left, save for the bottles above alluded to ; and 
their safety consisted in mj remaining quite sta- 
tionary. "What is this place?" asked I, star- 
ing about me. With a pitying smile the youth 
drew from a corner some fine photographic views of 
" Dutch Gap," the site of General Butler's canal ; 
and then proposed my sitting for my picture. Had 
he produced a French 'dress-maker from the trunk 
of one of the trees, I should not have been more 
astonished. When the fickle Yirginia sun again 
shone out, and I had said the pretties, in the way of 
thanks, I resumed my walk; and though on my 
way home I stopped to witness the fascinating 
operation of fellmg trees, and to admire the vig- 
orous strokes of the woodman's axe, and listen 
to its far-off echoes through the woods, I still kept 
on saying to myself — Well, I never I a photo- 
graphic establishment in these woods I 

While wandering round at the landing at City 
Point, waiting to take passage for Annapolis, I saw 
at a distance some tents, exquisitely trimmed with 
green boughs. " How very pretty !" I exclaimed ; 
"I must go up there and have a peep." "But it 
won't do to go nearer," suggested my companion. 
" I must," said I ; "I never saw anything half so 
pretty. I must see them nearer." Gradually ap- 
proaching, I saw that the floor of the tent was 
ingeniously carpeted with small pine boughs. In 
the middle of it was a round table covered with 
green in the same manner ; while in either corner 
stood a small rustic sofa, cushioned with green 



Glimpse of Camp Life, 147 

leaves. No upholsterer could have improved the 
effect " How very pretty !" I again exclaimed, 
growing bolder as I saw it temporarily imoccupied. 
As I said this, two officers made their appearance 
from a tent near, and said — " Walk in, madam, and 
look at it ; it is not often that we see ladies at our 
encampment." So we accepted the invitation, and 
then and there I penitently and publicly dropped a 
theory I had hugged for years — viz., that a man, left 
to himself, and deprived of the society of woman, 
would gradually deteriorate to that degree, that he 
would not even comb his hair, or wash his face, 
much less desire ornamentation in his home sur- 
roundings. And now here was a bower, fit for the 
prettiest maiden in all the land, made without any 
hope that a woman's eye might ever approve it; 
made, too, though its owner might be ordered to 
pack up his one shirt and march to battle the very 
next day ; made for the sheer love of seeing some- 
thing home-like, and beautiful. I bade its gallant 
proprietors good-bye, and went my ways, a humbler 
and a wiser woman. 

While absent on this excursion T had several 
times the pleasure of observing the fine soldierly 
appearance of our colored troops. "When I saw 
them form into line to salute the General as he 
passed^ it gave me a thrill of delight; because I 
knew that it was not a mere show performance, on 
their part, toward one who has been so warmly, and 
bravely, their friend and protector. • 



148 Folly as it Flies, 

The farther a New Englander goes South, the 
gladder he is to return. Blessed is it to pass the 
line, where doors will shut ; where windows will 
open ; where blinds will fasten ; where chairs will 
maintain their usual uprightness ; where wash-bowls 
are cleansed ; where one towel for half a dozen 
persons is not considered an extravagance, and 
where the glass-panes in the windows are not so 
elaborately mended with putty that a street view is 
impossible. In short, blessed is the Yankee " fac- 
ulty," as opposed to all this hanging-by-the-eyelids 
thriftlessness. In Yirginia the grass is too lazy to 
grow. Now and then a half-dozen spears poke 
above-ground, and having done that, seem to con- 
sider their mission accomplished ; then comes a bare 
spot of sand, until you come to the next five enter- 
prising spears. However, the North before long 
will teach Yirginia grass what is expected of grass. 
The James Kiver appeared very lovely with its soft 
shadows that beautiful afternoon I stood upon its 
banks ; and incongruous enough seemed the murder- 
ous-looking black Monitor resting upon its placid 
bosom; and the screeching shells flying overhead, 
with the soft hues of the rainbow against the blue 
sky. I said to myself — "Now, Fanny, you too 
would have loved this beautiful country, had you 
been born here instead of at the North ; but, having 
ever been to the North and seen what Southern eves 
must see there, whether they admit it or not, could 
you again ^ave been contented and happy with your 
Southern birthright and its accompanying curse? 



Glimpse of Camp Life, 149 

That is tLe question. / think noV Everywhere 
now, in that region one is struck with the absence of 
all the peaceful signs of domestic life: True, there 
are beautiful trees and vines, and the same sweet 
wild-flowers in the odorous woods skirting the road- 
side, that are to be found in New England. There 
are houses, but the fences have been torn away; 
and from the skeleton window-pane no fair faces 
look out. No chickens run about in the yards ; no 
little children swing upon gates ; no young maidens 
stand in the deserted gardens ; but, instead, there 
are soldiers and sentinels ; and the negro huts 
belonging to these houses are empty, and on the 
walls of the family mansions are rude charcoal draw- 
ings of ships, and well-remembered faces, and North- 
ern homesteads ; and there are verses of poetry, and 
names, and dates, and arithmetical calculations ; and 
upon floor and stairway and threshold the omnipres- 
ent evidences of that male-comforter and solace — 
Tobacco ! As you ride miles along, under the soft 
blue sky and through rows of majestic old trees, 
missing the sight of human faces, suddenly, upon 
one of the tree trunks, you are startled with this 
inscription, " Embalming the dead here," or " CofB.ns 
here," or you see in the distance the creeping ambu- 
lance, or in a sudden turn of the road an "abatis," 
or some fortification. One realizes in such scenes 
the meaning of the word "war." Strange enough 
it seems, to come back from all that, to city theatres 
and their mock woes. 

As to Annapolis — one feels, upon walking through 



150 Folly as it Flies, 

it, as if Herculaneum and Pompeii after all miglit 
be no fable. Going from its one-borse botel, to the 
model botel of Pbiladelpbia, was almost too sudden 
a cbange even for mj excellent constitution. Tbe 
brass door-knocker of antiquity, placed bigb up out 
of reacb of buman bands save tbose of well qualified 
adults, exists in Annapolis in full splendor. Tbe 
windows, too, are all on tbe second and tbird stories ; 
and one must get up early in the morning if' be 
would ascend tbeir front steps. I invaded tbeir 
legislative balls, and got as far as two buge piles of 
eartben spittoons, reacbing bigb above my bead, 
awaiting tbe advent of tbeir august legislative pro- 
prietors, at wbicb point I expressed myself perfectly 
satisfied witb my exploration, nor waited to be 
sbown tbe room in wbicb " General Washington 
publicly resigned bis commission." Witb my band 
on my beart to tbe General, I must still be permitted 
to say, tbat being being born fatally wanting in tbe 
bump of reverence, I could never lose my breatb in 
any sucb place if I tried, and tbat I am quite wil- 
ling, after baving been assured tbat certain skeletons 
of tbe past are to be evoked in certain places, to let 
more pious bands feel of tbeir bones. 

Tbe present only, now seems to me real. In tbe 
streets of Annapolis I could only feel tbat bere Gen- 
eral Butler landed tbe 8tb Massachusetts, and 
sbowed tbe New York Seventb tbe way to Wasb- 
ington. 



UNWRITTEN HISTORY OF THE WAR. 



i^^' H AT a four years we had ' of it I And now 
rkM^ that OTir cheeks no longer grow hot at the 
^^ name of Bull Eun, and pea,ce and victory — 
terms which no loyal heart ever wished to dis- 
sever — are ours; now that we have laid down our 
muskets and stop to take breath, how strange it 
all seems! Kow that we can snap our fingers at 
those precious " neutral " friends ; now that we can 
smile complacently upon croakers this side of the 
water, and enjoy the wry faces which suddenly con- 
verted patriots make, swallowing their allegiance; 
now that we sleep peaceably nights, without tossing 
up window-sashes and thrusting out night-capped 
heads, regardless of the modest stars and a shivering 
bed-fellow, to hail some lightning "Extra;" now 
that our pockets are no longer picked for standing 
gaping on the streets spelling out bulletins ; now 
that six-foot cowards have done squabbling about 
the "draft" that is to tear them from families for 
which they nevex half provided, and for which they 
have suddenly couceived such an intense affection ; 
now that our noble soldiers look back upon their suf- 
ferings and privations as some troubled dream, so hap- 
py are they in the love of proud wives and glad chil- 



152 . Folly as it Flies. 

drfen and friends; now tliat Libby — tliank God! — 
holds only its jailer, and kindred spirits, and on the 
prison ground of Andersonville loyal philanthropy 
already talks of erecting an institution for the benefit 
of on.r brave soldiers ; now that . Broadway has time 
to cool, between regiments coming and regiments go- 
ing ; now that the rotten thrones of the old country 
will have as mnch as they can do to prop up their 
shaky foimdations, without making mouths at the 
new cap-stone of onr glorious republic, phew ! nov) 
we can imtie onr bonnets and toss them np in the 
air, without caring for their descent. For have not 
dry -goods and groceries gone down? and can't we 
bny needles, threads and pins without beads of per- 
spiration standing on onr faces at the thought ? are 
not pennies plenty ? and won't we soon have the 
dear little clean silver pieces back again, instead of 
greasy stamps ? and isn't there a prospect that when 
hanging is good for a man he will now be sure to 
get it? and if I am a woman, can't I fold my arms 
and strut about a little, even though I didn't help 
fight? Come to think of it, though, I did ; I can 
show you a spoiled dress I got, touching off a thirty- 
two ponnder Parrot gun commissioned to throw 
shells into Petersburg; and I never got a shoulder- 
strap for it either, like many another fellow, and 
never grumbled about it, un-Y^Q many another, but 
was satisfied with that spot on my dress, and none 
on my soldierly honor, and when it was told me that 
" that lady had better leave the field and go some- 
where else," I went there. 



Unwritten History of the War, 153 

WeVe done so mucli grieving lately, tliat it is a 
relief to be silly; so you'll excuse me; but deep 
down in my heart, I tliank God tliat tlie dear lost 
lives, from our President down, have not been in 
vain ; that the blood the monster slavery won Id have 
lapped up triumphantly' has only gone to strengthen 
the roots of the tree of Liberty. 

Ah ! think if tyranny all over the world had 
flaunted more defiantly for our uncrowned struggle ! 
If every despotic chain, the earth over, were fresh 
riveted ! Ah ! then indeed we might mourn. 

But now ! — with tender compassion for the be- 
reaved, — for in many a home that bright flag will 
always wear its mourning-border — to-day! Joy — 
joy to it! I never see its dear folds waving in and 
out against the clear blue sky, that my eyes do not 
fill ; I want to fold it round my shoulders, I want to 
wear it for a dress. I want to sleep under it for a 
bed quilt — and I want to be wrapped in it when I 
die. 



Bye and bye what a glorious history of our war 
may be written. Not that the world will not teem 
with histories of it. But I speak not of great gen- 
erals and commanders, who, under the inspiration of 
leadership, and with the magnetic eyes of the world 
upon them, shall have achieved their several tri- 
umphs ; but of those who have laid aside the plough, 
and stepped fi'om behind the anvil, and the printing, 
press, and the counter, and from out the shop, and 



154 Folly as it Flies, 

with leaping pulses, and without hope of reward, laid 
an honest heart and a strong right arm on the altar 
of their country ; some to languish in prison, with 
undressed wounds, defying taunts and insults, hun- 
ger and thirst, their places of sepulture even un- 
known, and their names remembered only at some 
desolate hearthstone, by a weeping widow and 
orphans, and yet whose last pulse-beat was "for 
their country." By many a cottage fireside shall old 
men tell tales to wondering childhood, that shall 
bring forth their own precious harvest ; sometimes 
of those who, enclosed in meshes too cunningly 
woven to sunder, wore hated badges over loyal hearts, 
and with gnashing teeth and listening ear and strain- 
ing eyeballs, bided their time to strike ! Men who 
planted, that the tyrant might reap ; whose wives 
and children went hungry and shelterless, that he 
might be housed and fed. Nor shall woman be for- 
gotten, who, with quivering heart but smiling lip 
bade God-speed to him, than whom only her country 
was dearer, and turned bravely back to her lonely 
home, to fight the battle of life, with no other weapon 
than faith in Him who feedeth the ravens. All these 
are the true heroes of this war ; not alone they who 
have memorials presented, and if they die, pompous 
monuments erected, but the thousands of brave fel- 
lows who know, if they fall, they will have mention, 
only among the "list of the killed and wounded." 
Who, untrammelled by precedents, shall write us 
such a history ? 



Unwritten History of the War, 155 

Let me tell jou a story I heard the other 
daj. 

He 'vs^as home at last ! It was for three years he 
he had enlisted. When his term was nearly ont, 
and just as his heart leaped at thought of going 
home, he was taking prisoner. We all know what 
that word means in connection with " Andersonville " 
and " Libby." No shelter from rain, or sun, or night 
dew; stung by vermin; devoured by thirst and 
hunger. So day .after day dragged by, and fewer 
and fewer came thoughts of home ; for the light was 
fading out from the sufferer's eyes, and one only 
thought, day and night, pursued him — food, food! 
At last came the order for exchange, and John was 
taken with the rest, as he could bear the removal — 
slowly — home! Oh, how joyful they all were as 
they waited for his coming! How tenderly he 
should be cared for and nursed. How soon his at- 
tenuated form should be clothed with flesh, and the 
old sparkle of fire come back to his faded eyes. 
How they would love him ten thousand times better 
than ever for all the dreadful suffering he had under- 
gone for his country's sake. And when he got bet- 
ter, how they would have the neighbors come and 
listen to his stories about the war. Oh, yes — they 
would soon make John well again. Nine — ten — 
eleven o'clock-— it was almost time for him to be 
there. Susy and Jenny were quite wild with joy ; 
and mother kept saying " Girls, now be quiet ;" but 
all the time she kept smoothing the cushions of the 
easy-chair by the fire, and fidgetting about morq 



156 Folly as it Flies, 

tlian any of tliem. Tlien there was such a sliout 
went Tip from Susy, wlio was looking down the road 
from the end window. H^s coming ! father's com- 
ing! and fast as her feet could carry her through 
the door and down the road she flew ; and Jenny fol- 
lowed, and mother? — well, she stood there, with 
bea,ting heart and brimming eyes of joy, on the 
threshold. But what makes the girls so quiet as' 
they reach the wagon where "father "is sitting? 
Why don't father kiss and hug them, and he three 
long years away ? He is alive^ thank Grod, else he 
couldn't be sitting there — why don't he kiss his girls ? 
He doTbt kiss them: he don't speak to them; he 
don't even know Susy and Jenny, as they stand 
there with white lips and young faces frozen with 
terror. It is father — bu.t, look ! he is only a crazy 
skeleton. And when they came to him, he only 
stretched out his long, bony fingers, and muttered, 
feebly — ■'•'• Bread ! bread ! Oh, give me some bread !" 
And when they brought him in, crowded round and 
kissed him, and carried him to the warm fire, and, 
with streaming eyes of pity, showed him the plenti- 
ful table, he only looked vacantly in their faces and 
muttered, " Bread ! bread ! Oh, give me some bread !" 
And to everybody who came into the door till the 
hour he died, which was very soon, he said still, 
" Bread I bread !" and this was the last word they 
^ver heard Jfrom " father." 



Unwritten History of the War. 157 

And yet they say we must forgive tlie leader of 
the rebellion who did such things as these ! Spi- 
rit of Seventy-six ! Can I believe my ears ? What 
sort of mercy is this, that sets the viper of to- 
day free to raise up a brood of hissing vipers for the 
future? What is this mercy for one, and this injus- 
tice for the million ? This mercy which hangs little 
devils, and erect no gibbet for the arch-fiend himself? 
This mercy which lets Jeff. Davis glide safely out 
of the. country with his money-bags, and claps the 
huge paw of the law upon some woman, for giving 
so much aid and comfort to the enemy as she could 
carry in her little apron-pocket ? What ! Forgive 
JefP. Davis, with the fresh memory of Forts Pillow 
and Wagner? What! because your son, or your 
husband, are now smiling at you across your table, 
are you to ignore that poor mother, who night after 
night paced up and down her chamber floor, power- 
less to release her husband or boy, who, at Libby or 
Andersonville, was surely, horribly dying with the 
slow pangs of starvation ! The poor mother, did I 
say ? The thousands of mothers, whose wrung hearts 
cry out that the land be not poisoned with the breath 
of their children's assassinator. To whom the sight 
of the gay flags of victory, and the sound of the 
sweet chiming bells of peace are torture, while this 
great wrong goes unredressed. Who can see only 
by day and night that dreadful dead- cart, with its 
unshrouded skeleton-freight, and uppermost the dear 
face, rumbling from that loathsome prison, to be 
shovelled, like carrion, underground. 



158 Folly as it Flies, 

Tell me ? Is it in nature or grace, either, for these 
parents to vote that Jeff. Davis and his like be nei- 
ther expatriated nor deprived of the rights of citizen- 
ship ? In the name of that " mercy •' which would 
be so burlesqued, let them not suffer this crowning 
injury. Let them not be pained with this mock 
magnanimity which so " forgivingly " crosses palms 
with this wrencher of other people's heartstrings. 
Let it not be said thoughtlessly, " Oh, we are too 
happy to think of vengeance." Say rather, ".Let us 
not, in our joy, forget to be just." 

And let me, individually, have due notice, if it be 
in contemplation to present these traitors, either with 
a costly service of silver plate or an honorable seat 
in the United States Senate. 



Overhead floats the dear old flag, thank G-odI 
but countless are the homes where the music of "the 
holidays " has forever died out ; where sorrow will 
clasp its hands over an aching heart, or sit down by 
a solitary hearth, with a pictured face it can scarce 
see for the tears that are falling on it. There seems 
nothing left now. The country is safe, the war has 
ended; that rifled heart is glad of that; but oh! 
what shall make its terrible desolation on these festi- 
val days even endurable ? That's the thought that 
can't be choked down even by patriotism. It comes 
up all over the house, at every step. It meets you 
in parlor, and chamber, and entry. It points where 



Unwritten History of the War, 1^9 

the coat and hat used to hang ; it whispers from the ' 
leaves of some chance hook you listlessly open, 
where are Ms pencil-marks. Even the dish on the 
table you loved to prepare for him is turned to poi- 
son. The sun seems merciless in its brightness ; the 
music and dancing in unrifled homes is almost heart- 
less. What can you do with this spectre grief, that 
has taken a chair by your fireside, and, change posi- 
tion as you may, insists on keeping you torturing 
company ? You may walk, but it is there when you 
return. You may read, but you feel its stony eyes 
on you the while ; you may talk, but you keep lis- 
tening for the answer you will never hear. Oh, 
what shall you do with it ? Face it ! Move your 
chair up as closely to it as you can. Say — -I see 
you ; I know you are here, and I know too that you 
will never, never leave me. I am so weary trying to 
el ade you. Let us sit down then together, and re- 
cognize each other as inseparable. Between me and 
happiness is that gulf — I know it. I will no longer 
try to bridge it over with cobwebs. It is there. As 
you say this, a little voice pipes out — ^mother, when 
is Christmas ? Ah ! — ^you thought you could do it ; 
but that question from that little mouth, of all 
others ! Oh, how can you be thankful ? 

Poor heart, look in that little sunny face, and be 
thankful for that. Hasn't it a right to its share of 
life's sunshine, and are you not God-appointed to 
make it? There's work for you to do — up-hill, 
weary work, for quivering lips to frame a smile — ^I 
grant, but there's no dodging it. That child will 



160 Folly as it Flies, 

have to take up its own burtlien bj and bj, as you 
are now bearing yours ; but . for the present don't 
drop your pall over its golden sunshine. Speak 
cheerily to it ; smile lovingly on it ; help it to catch 
the floating motes that seem to it so bright and shin- 
ing. Let it have its youth with all its bright dreams, 
one after the other, as you did. They may not all 
fade away ; and if they should, there's the blessed 
memory of which even you would not be rid, with 
all the pain that comes with it. Now would 
you? 

So, little one — Christmas is coming ! and coming 
for you. There's to be turkey and pie, and you 
shall stuff your apron full. There's to be blind-man's, 
buff, and hunt the slipper, and puss in the corner, 
and there shall be flowers strewn for your feet, you 
little dear, though we all wince at the thorns. 

But for our soldiers' homes where death has liter- 
ally taken all ; where the barrel of meal and cruse 
of oil too has failed ; let a glad country on festival 
days, of all others, bear its widows and orphans in 
grateful remembrance. 



SpEAKiNa of "Unwritten History," reminds me 
of some curious written chapters of it that I saw the 
other day. 

I begin now to think that an " All-"Wise Provi- 
dence " spent more time finishing off human beings 
than was at all necessary. I arrived at this sapient 
conclusion, the other evening, while looking at some 



Unwritten History of the War, 161 

hundreds of specimens of tlie handwriting of our dis- 
abled soldiers. Before tliis I had always supposed 
that hands and arms were necessary preliminaries to 
chirography, and right hands and above all arms. 
And there I was, brought up all standing, with the 
legible, fair proofs to the contrary before my very 
face. Positively there was one specimen written 
with the soldier's moiiih^ both hands being useless. 
It was enough to make an able-bodied man or wo- 
man blush to think of cowering for one moment be- 
fore the darkest cloud of fate. As a moral lesson I 
would have had every boy and girl in the land, taken 
there to see the power of the mind over the body. 
The potency of that one little phrase, "I will try." 
The impotency of that cowardly plea, " I can't." I 
wished, as I examined these interesting and charac- 
teristic papers, with the signatures and photographs 
of the writers annexed, that all our schools in order, 
should be taken there, to learn a lesson that all their 
books might never teach so impressively. I wished 
that every man in the nation, whose patriotism needed 
quickening, (alas that there should be any !) might 
see that these men who have fought for the peace we 
are now enjoying, who have languished long months 
in wretched prisons for us, and through all have but 
just escaped, maimed and disabled, to reach their 
homes, are yet self-helpfal and courageous, fearing 
nothing, hoping all things, since they have helped 
save the nation. Is it safe ? That is a question I 
shall not meddle with here. Meantime I, for one, 
feel proud as an American loyal woman that this 



162 Folly as it Flies. 

collection of mannscripts has been made. I believe 
it to be purely an American idea. I am not aware 
that in any other conntiy such, a novelty exists. I 
tbink it as bigbly creditable to tbe bead and heart 
of the originator, as to the skill and patience of our 
soldiers. I felt as though it should have, like a great 
national picture, its appropriate framing and setting 
in the most conspicuous spot in the Capitol. How 
often I think of these " privates," as they are called, 
when grand " receptions " and " balls " are in pro- 
gress for some great " Greneral " in our midst. All 
honor to him ; but meantime what of these brave 
maimed "privates?" 

Therefore I was rejoiced when John Smith and 
Thomas Jones had succeeded in "making their 
mark" on paper as well as in battle. I was glad 
that they had placed it on record that an American 
soldier is still wide awake and hopeful, though he 
may be so hacked and hewed to pieces that not half 
his original proportions remain. I wanted to sing 
" Hail Columbia," and " The Star Spangled Banner," 
and "John Brown," and "Yankee Doodle," and 
more than all, I wanted those people who are stick- 
ing pins through curious sprawling bugs, and paying 
fabulous sums for shells, and taking their Bible oaths 
over some questionable pictures " by the old masters," 
would just turn their attention to something not only 
veritable and unique, but honorable and worthy as 
a legacy to every American child that shall be born 
to the end of time, or — the end of our Kepublic, 
which is one and the same thing. 




MY SUMMERS IN NEW ENGLAND 

^OU sHould have lived there to understand the 
delight with which I linger about an old 
farm-house, to see if the old familiar ob- 
jects were all there. The clump of tall, nodding 
hollyhocks, manj-hued, and gorgeous in the sun- 
light ; the lovely, evanescent ■morning-glories, always 
reminding me of the clear eyes and silken locks of 
childhood ; the big tree, the pride of the homestead, 
under which it nestles, elm, locust, maple or willow, 
it matters not ; the hen, with her busy brood ; the old 
dog, of any breed Providence wills, lying with his 
nose between his paws, lazily winldng at the sun ; 
the row of shining milk-pans turned up against the 
wpoden fence ; the creaking well-sweep ; the old tub 
under the eaves ; the neatly arranged wood-pile ; the 
honest, homely sun-flowers at the back door, and the 
scarlet bean-blossoms ; oh, how I love them all ! 

Let U.S go in ; any excuse — a glass of water — ^will 
serve. They are not ashamed to be caught working. 

Bless you, no ! One person is as good as another 
in New England, and better, too. Observe how 
stainless are the steps, threshold and entry ; see the 
little mats, laid wherever a heedless foot might pos- 
sibly mar their purity. How white are the curtains 



164 Folly as it Flies, 

and table-covers, and the napkins pinned upon tlie 
backs of the cbairs ; see how nicely that patch has 
be^n placed over the stain upon the wall-paper ; look 
at that book shelf hung in the corner. Surely some 
hand not devoid of daintiness, arranged those pretty 
touches of color, in the scarlet cord and tassels that 
support it, and the pretty little blue vase upon its top 
shelf Then there are picture-frames made of pine 
cones, quite as pretty as any Broadway dealer could 
show ; and the chairs, with their flowered-chintz cov- 
erings, and now you look to see some sweet maiden 
trip in, with pure eyes, and soft, smooth hair, and 
her name shall be Mary. JSTor are you disappointed ; 
and as you look at her, as the softened light comes in 
through the vine-leaves at the window, you see how 
it is that flowers of beauty are wreathed round the 
rugged trunk of New England asceticism. You see 
how no home, without a foundation of thrift, can be 
anything like a home to this New England girl. 
You can see how, in her married far-off abode, when 
reverses come, she is not the woman to fold her hands 
and sit down and cry about it. You see how she can 
make bread one minute, and ten to one, write a poem 
the next ; how she can trim .a bonnet or row a boat ; 
how she can cut and make her own and her children's 
dresses, and keep her kitchen in a state of polish, to 
make the haunter of Intelligence Offices stare with 
wonder. 

I adore it all ! I know that wheresoever fortune, in 
its vagaries, tosses a New Englander, male or female, 
that individual will always come up like a cat, on its 



My Stimmers in New England, 165 

feet. Meantime, tliey can bear your gibes at their 
time-bonored disbes of '' pork and beans," and " apple- 
dowdj," and "fisb-balls " and "brown-bread. " You can 
no more see " anything in them " with all your tasting, 
than you could imitate the moral courage of their 
makers in finding out what a thing will cost before 
they order it home ; and you will always manifest the 
same astonishment that you do now, that these same 
economical, careful jSTew Englanders are always ready 
with open hearts and purses, whenever a fire lays 
waste a city, when stormy winds seiid shipwrecked 
families upon their coasts, or when any great philan- 
thropic object challenges their pity or assistance. 

You can't understand it — ^how should you ? You 
who think it " mean " and " unlady-like " to inquire the 
price of a thing before you buy it, or to decline buy- 
ing it, not because you do not like it, but for the hon- 
est and sensible reason that it is beyond your means. 
You can never solve the problem how a just econ- 
omy, and a generous liberality, can go hand in hand, 
or how one legitimately follows the other and makes 
it possible. 

Then perhaps you smile when you see what a prom- 
inent place has Watts' Psalms and Hymns, and tho 
Bible upon the table yonder. Oh, if you could hear 
the Sunday night singing in that little ^'heeping-room P 

" Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood. 
Stand dressed in living green." 

You remember that hymn ? You who had its lull- 
aby sung to you, countless starry nights by your own 



166 Folly as it Flies, 

motlier ; y'ou^ wlio repeated it to lier in broken accents 
when she was dying — " Watts' Psalms and Hymns " 
is to you as sacred as her memory. And the Bible ? 
You don't think, more than myself, that mankind 
have furnished us anything better, as yet, in the way 
either of morality or literature. You know that it is 
not a mere lesson-book to that soft-eyed girl with the 
brown hair. 

I pity a genuine Kew Englander, who migrates 
from a land in which every inhabitant is born with 
a faculty of doing everything in the best manner, 
and in the very " nick of time," and settles down 
among a Penelope race, who weave their webs in the 
morning, only to find them irretrievably unravelled 
every night. Thriftless I You may think there are 
worse qualities than this in a person's moral make-up. 
/believe it to be the foundation of sand upon which 
any permanently useful superstructure is impossible. 
Thriftless ! The gods remove me far from this aimless 
specimen of adult infancy, who crawls a mile on all 
fours to pick up a straw ; who, forgetting where he 
placed it the moment after he gets it, makes a series of 
circuitous journeys in search of it ; who is constant- 
ly placing things on their tops that are not self-support- 
ing unless set upon their bottoms ; and who, though 
warned by repeated thumps and bumps, that there 
are better ways than those he chooses to crawl in, still 
persists in scratching and scarring himself, and driv- 
ing you wild with wondering what mischief he can 
do next that he has not already done, /say that a 
a lunatic asylum can be the only end of a Kew Eng- 



My Summers in New England, 167 

lander who is forced into a daily yoke-sliip witli your 
" thriftless " person. 

New England ! bless it ! Isnt it thorouglL ? Does 
tlieir sewing rayel out ? Do their shoes rip at the first 
wearing? Don't their children's "bought" clothes 
hang together, at least till you get them home ? Isn't 
a New England-buttonhole exhilarating to the moral 
eyesight ? Don't their blinds keep fastened ? Don't 
their doors shut without bringing them " to " with a 
bang like the explosion of a Parrot gun ? Haven't the 
women sense "into" them? Don't the men know 
what they know ? Haven't their children a backbone, 
moral and physical? and haven't they a right to boast 
of the "hub?" And as to their kitchens, my very 
soul yearns for those shining tin pans and pewter pots, 
and immaculate dishcloths. I am homesick for an 
old-fashioned " dresser," with the kitchen spoons laid 
in a row after every meal. I long for a peep into the 
kitchen closet, where the tea isn't in the coffee-thing, 
and the starch mixed with the pepper ; where the roll- 
ing-pin hangs up, white and suggestive of flaky pie- 
crust ; where the clothes-pins are shrouded in a clean 
bag till next Monday's wash ; where the lids of the 
coffee and tea-pot are left open, for those vessels to 
air, and no yesterday's " grounds" are permitted to re- 
pose over night ; where — ^but what's the use ? Gotham 
is Gotham — Erin always will be Erin — and New 
England, God be praised ! will always be New Eng- 
land ; for were there not thai leaven to infuse thrift 
through the veins of the country "Well, you per- 
ceive that I am a New-Englander, 



168 Folly as it Flies, 

"While in Brattleboro I obtained permission to 
write in tlie qniet empty scliool-lionse, during tlie 
summer vacation. I thought while seated there of 
the probable fate and fortunes of their absent occu- 
pants. How many Senators, how many Presidents, 
how many Artists, how many Sculptors, how many 
Authors, how many men, and women, of note, 
might make their starting-point from that very 
school-house. 

I should like to keep the statistics from this time 
had I leisure^ You must know that it is an article 
in my creed that a New England cradle is the safest 
and fittest to rock a baby in. In other words, that 
a INTew England foundation is sounder and better 
than any other ; the superstructure may be laid else- 
where — I had almost said anywhere — this being 
secured. 

With these views, from which I am quite willing 
you should dissent, should it so please you, I look 
around on these vacant seats of our future men 
and women, with intense interest. " The war is 
over," I hear people say ; / say it has just begun. 
The smoke of battle having cleared a little, he that 
hath eyes to see, shall note the dead who are to be car- 
ried out of sight, the maimed who are to be tenderly 
cared for, and the vultures who are to be driven, at 
all costs, from feeding on that which is as dear to us 
as our heart's blood. This work these children will 
have to do. Pinafores and blouses they will not 
wear forever. Balls, kites and dolls are but for now. 
Earnest men and women they must be, being Kew 



My Summers in New England, 169 

England born. Earnest for tlie Eighty I plead, as I 
glance at tlie Teacher's Desk. I do not know liim, 
who wields a power for which I would not exchange 
a monarch's throne — who must face in this world, 
and account for in the next, these boys and girls, 
who look to him for guidance and help ; but who- 
ever he may be, I trust that he holds his office, for 
sublimity and honor, second to none. I trust he 
looks beyond to-day, when he gazes into those clear, 
bright eyes, where his teachings are mirrored like 
the branches and blossoms in the clear, still lake be- 
neath. I trust he sees in those boys something be- 
yond a trousers-tearing, bird's-nest-robbing crew, out 
of whose craniums must be thumped fun, and into 
whose craniums must be bored grammar. I trust he 
sees in those girls something besides machines for 
sewing on buttons, and fr3H[ng "flap-jacks," and 
making cheese. I trust he does not expect to run 
all these children, like a pound of candles, into the 
same shaped and sized mould. I trust he knows a 
properly developed head when- he sees it, and 
believes in individuality of character, whether male 
or female. I am glad to hear that he does not see 
only dollars and cents in the glorious vocation he 
has adopted 

Schoolmaster I Why, Emperor, King, President, 
are nothing to it. There is only one thing before it, 
and that is — "Mother." Let the world look to it 
who are its schoolmasters. Let schoolmasters look 
to it that they are God-appointed to their places. 
K a conscientious clergjmaan need ask God's bless- 
8 



170 Folly as it Flies, 

ing on Ms Sunday message before delivering it to 
his flock, so mucli tlie more need tlie sclioolmaster 
take the slioes from off Ms feet ; because the place 
where he treads is holy ground. 

Meantime, I sat there - in the empty school-house, 
and watched the birds flit in and out through the 
open window, while the breath of the clover and the 
smell of the new -mown hay came pleasantly enough 
to my city-disgusted nose. So now, dear children 
all, whoever you may be, I leave you my hearty 
and sincere benediction for the pleasant hour in 
your school-house, when you had " a vacation " and 
I had none. 



Now let me tell you a little story about a Green 
Mountain Sculptor. The town of Brattleboro', 
wrapped in its mantle of snow, looked very lovely 
one crisp, cold winter night. There were no operas, 
no theatres, no racketing or frolicking of any sort 
going on. The snow and the stars had it all their own 
way. I said it was " quiet," and yet, from the win- 
dows of one pretty little white house, lights were 
gleaming ; and now a young man, warmly mufSed 
to the ears, crosses the threshold, and is joined by 
two or tMee young companions, who commence 
gathering the snow in heaps in front of the house, 
while he shapes it with his benumbed fingers into 
the form of a pedestal ; occasionally stepping back 
and looking at it, or slapping his hands together to 
produce circulation. Now upon the pedestal he 



My Summers in New England, 171 

commences modeling a figure ; while his companions 
continue patiently to supply him with fresh heaps 
of the pure white snow, one holding a lantern while 
he proceeds with his work. ISToiselessly and indus- 
triously they toil, no policeman disturbing them 
with curious inquiries or a threatened "station 
house." Occasionally they glide into the house, 
where warm flannels, and warm beverages, and a 
good fire, and " mother's " encouraging smile, await 
them, to inspire the party with new energy. It is 
near daylight, and still our snow-sculptor toils on, 
hour after hour, till, fair and lovely, stands before 
him, on this night of the New Year, the form of a 
Eecording Angel, writing upon a scroll. Now, the 
party, taking one long look, quietly retire, leaving 
the figure conspicuously standing at the meeting of 
two roads. The stars gTadually fade out, and Brat- 
tleboro' begins to be astir. First comes the earliest 
riser of all, poor " crazy Jim," who never seems to 
weary of wandering to and fro on the earth, and up 
and down on it. Dim in his confused brain lie 
tangled memories of childhood's " angels." He 
stands and gazes, awe-struck and wondering, while 
his busy, chattering tongue is for the time quite 
still. Now a farmer from the mountains glides over 
the snow with his fleet horse and sleigh, with tink- 
ling bells, and reins up, and shares crazy Jim's 
amazement. As the morning wears on, the news 
flies that there is "an angel " among them. School- 
girls and boys forget that it is "past nine," and 
stand spell-bound by the side of their parents, whose 



172 Folly as it Flies, 

wonder at tlie marvellous beauty of the figure is 
only equalled by tbeir curiosity as to the fingers 
that so cunningly shaped it. Had Brattleboro', 
with its other natural marvels, furnished also a 
genius? Was Vermont, rich in so many other 
treasures, to " keep " a sculptor ? Artists were not 
wont to swarm in Brattleboro' in mid-winter, how 
long soever might be the list of ''arrivals" during 
the balmy days of summer. There was no name of 
distinction now on the hotel books. Who could it 
be ? And what a pity such a beautiful thing should 
perish, and fade away with the first warm rays of 
the sun. Among the crowd who gathered to wonder 
and admire came an editor. This editor was intel- 
ligent, and what is more, sympathetic and appre- 
ciative. He wrote a glowing account of the ^'snow- 
angel." The paper containing it met the eye of rich 
old Nicholas Longworth, of Cincinnati. He imme- 
diately sent an order to the young sculptor, who was 
then modestly enjoying his first triumph from the 
windows of his father's little white house, to perpet- 
uate it for him in marble, not forgetting to send 
with the order a generous check in advance. This 
was substantial praise. This looked like beginning 
the world right. For once. Fortune, too often churl- 
ish to genius, seemed about to take it at once into 
her ample lap. 

But our sculptor did not presume on this. He 
finished his beautiful statue to the satisfaction of his 
patron, and with the proceeds went to Italy, where 
he could more easily command the requisites of the 



. My Summers in New England, 173 

profession for wliicli Nature liad ordained Mm. One 
lovely creation after another has succeeded the 
snow-angel, and are now cherished household 
treasures in his native land and State. I am not a 
Yermonter, unless strong love for its grand moun- 
tains and intelligent people can make me one ; stilh 
though suffering under the disgrace of not having 
been born in that glorious old State, I feel just as 
proud of that young Green Mountain sculptor and 
his beautiful works, as if its lovely valleys had cra- 
dled me. 

So, lest other States begin to wrangle by and by 
as to the honor of producing him, I wish to place it 
on record that Larkin Gr. Mead was born and reared 
in Yermont and nowhere elsa 



While in Yermont, it seemed to me that every 
State in the Union should consider it a religious duly 
to gather, in some shape, form or place, every relic 
of the war with which the people of that State were 
in any way connected. The golden moment of ac- 
tion in this regard will pass, is passing, with each 
fleeting day. Life presses heavily on most of us. 
The shuttlecock of the present is so busy and swift, 
that its whirr may well distract us from aught else. 
But think ! to our children, grandchildren and great- 
grandchildren what these relics would be. This coat, 
torn, blood-stained, bullet-riddled in so many battles. 
This shoe, patched with improvised needle and 
thread in the horrible prison pens of Andersonville 



174 Folly as it Flies, 

and Libby. Tbis — ^but time wonld fall me to tell 
of. tlie relics and memorials wbicb every farm-bonse 
in tbe conntry miglit yield, and wbicb migbfc so ea- 
sily now become a nation's property and pride. I was 
particularly awake to tbis subject because I lately 
saw, np bere in Brattleboro', a private by tbe name 
of Colt, witb bis rigbt arm.Tio?/; quite -useless, wbo 
bas in bis possession a fiddle manufactured by bim- 
self, wbile in camp, from a maple stump, witb no 
otber tools tban a jackknife, and a piece of broken 
bottle, a gimlet and an old file, wbicb be made into 
a cbisel. 

It was in Yirginia, on tbe Potomac, below "Wasb- 
ington, tbat bis regiment was located. "Boys," said 
one of tbem, as tbey lonnged in tbeir tents at nigbt- 
fall, wben it will not do to tbink too long or too 
mucb of tbe dear faces tbey migbt never more see — 
" boys, if we bad a fiddle bere we migbt bave some 
music." "I could play on ifc," says one, (wbat carit 
a Yankee do ?) " So can I," said anotber. " Well," 
said our bero, " tbe only way for ns to bave a fiddle 
is to make one." No sooner said tban begun, at least. 
A maple stump was found, and comrade after com- 
rade, wben off duty, watcbed its transformation to a 
fiddle witb tbe intensest interest. Some laugbed, 
some cbeered ; praise, blame or indifierence were all 
alike to onr indomitable private, wbo was bound to 
get music out of tbat maple stump. 

Still tbe fiddle grew. Still tbe cbips flew. A 
good piece of wood was desirable for wbat I sball 
designate as- tbe lid; — tbe bottom and sides being 



My Summers in New England, 175 

finislied. Our private looked about. There was an 
old box in camp, sent from prolific Yermont, witli 
" goodies " for her valiant boys. He siezed upon the 
best part of it, and shaped it to its purpose, polishing 
it smooth with the broken bit of glass. The pegs 
he made from the horns of secesh cattle slaughtered 
by the rebels, 'when they didn't dream our boys 
would rout them to take possession. The strings for 
the fiddle-bow he made of hairs from the tail of the 
General's horse. Just at this juncture in fiddle-pro- 
gress, came a pause. Where are the fiddle strings 
to come from ? Away there in camp ; even a Yan- 
kee might well stop, and scratch his head. Up 
comes an officer, and gazes with dumb wonder on 
that improvised fiddle. When he found his tongue, 
he offered our private to send to Washington by the 
svJ^Qx for the desired strings. These were obtained, 
and straightway fastened in their places. And now 
behold a pretty^ delicate little affair, in color resem- 
bling the satin wood-fans sent us from Fayal. But 
did it have music in it ? Most assuredly. There is 
the beauty of it. The tone of our Yankee fiddle is 
irreproachable. 

Now I ask, is that*fiddle to become the property 
and pride of Yermont, and be handed down, as it 
should, to its future sons and daughters, with the 
name of its enterprising maker ? As I sat in that 
low-roofed wooden house, listening to his simple sto- 
ry, and looking first at the fiddle, and then at his 
twisted and useless arm, and then at a little fat roly- 
poly of a dimpled baby on the carpet, I thought — 



176 Folly as it Flies. 

well, I said, Fannj, thank God that you were 
born a Yankee; and now go home and tell 
the world the history of that fiddle. And I have 
done it. Kow, millions of relics, most interesting, 
like this, lie scattered all over the land. Let each 
State garner its own. It is dne to the brave fellows 
who, modest as brave, will never do it themselves. 
It is due to these " Privates " to whom no splendid 
residences in our cities are.presented, ready fiu'nished 
and victualled. Let them have the reward of re- 
membrance and appreciation, at least from a grateful 
posterity. 



After leafy, lovely Yermont, to come back to 
t;ie dusty city ! To lose October ! the golden month 
of all the year in the country, that one may come to 
town, to see that a dusty house is put in shining or- 
der : that's what I call a trial. Of course, I antici- 
pate your provoking rejoinder — " Wliat if you had 
no house to put to rights?" And now, if you have 
done interrupting me, I will proceed to say, that to 
decide between poultry, beef, miitton or veal for din- 
ner ; to make the disgusting to'ur of closets and cup- 
boards that have enjoyed a long summer vacation in 
company with mice ; instead of strolling " down to 
the river " and watching the little boats glide on its 
polished surface, or gaze at the mist lazily rolling off 
the mountain; while sweet odors of flowers, and the 
fresh smell of grass, make breathing itself a luxury, 
for which you can find no words of thanks — this 



My Summers in New England, 177 

ciiange, I say boldly, is not to ray taste. Not to 
mention, of a liot morning, wlien you innocently 
tbougbt liot mornings were quite gone till next sea- 
son, sitting in Intelligence Offices trying to decipher 
the countenances of various applicants for the care 
of your kitchen-range, or dining-room, or bed-cham- 
ber, when your tantalizing thoughts were far away 
on delicious roads, shaded so thickly with trees that 
in the hottest noon scarce a sun-ray penetrated, while 
the cool water dripped from mossy rocks, or rnshed 
foaming over them, with a glad free joy that set you 
wild with longing. To fight rabid city mosquitoes 
all night, after a blessed freedom from the wretches 
all summer; to listen to the shrieks of infuriated 
catSy in the intervals, instead of the whisper of the 
soft leaves almost within your bed-room window ; to 
hear the ceaseless click, click, of the tireless street 
cars, instead of the solitary musical "peep, peep" of 
some little bird ; to be woke in the morning, when 
exhausted nature craves so madly that one little re- 
storing-nap before breakfast, by the whooping of in- 
furiated milk-men, and the thumping and ringing of 
bakers ; in short, after kicking your heels like a colt 
in a pasture all summer, to be suddenly noosed, 
caught and harnessed to a relentless dray-cart which 
keeps on going up hill, regardless of your disgusted 
puffing and panting and attempts at halting ; well — 
I trust now you understand what my emotions are 
on returning to this Pandemonium of a city, after a 
breezy, care-free, delicious summer sojourn in the 
mountains. 



178 Folly as it Flies, 

What do I care for the " new style of bonnets," 
when I have found it so mnch pleasanter to stroll 
out without any covering for the head ? What to 
me are "top-boots ''with red and blue tassels and 
lacings, when any old shoe served my turn if a lovely 
country tramp was in prospect ? What to me are 
new dresses F involving weary hunts for buttons, 
and " bones," and hooks, and eyes, and cord, and 
tassels, and lace, and bugles, and gimp, and facings, 
and linings, and last, but not least, a " lasso " to catch 
a dress-maker? 

That's what I said to myself as I sat down on my 
dusty travelling trunk, with my hair full of cinders, 
and both fingers stuffed in my ears to keep out the 
questions that were pouring into them about what 
was to be done with this and that and t'other thing ; 
and if I wanted the windows cleaned first or last; 
this paint or that paint scrubbed. Good heavens ! 
said I, what is woman that she should be thus tor- 
mented ? 

That was the first onslaught, you see, and I am . 
not naturally a patient animal. But now that the 
wheels are greased and the household machinery 
'' whistles itself," it is a comfort to sit down again in 
my own favorite little chair, which must really have 
been made for my particular shoulders and back. 
It is a comfort to have a nail and a closet acd a shelf 
for everything, and see my worldly effects neatly 
placed away from dust, each in its own niche, where 
I can find them on the darkest night without the aid 
of a light. It is a comfort to have many rooms, in- 



My Summers in New England, 179 

stead of two. It is pleasant, after all, to feel tliat you 
yourself have brought all this order out of chaos, al- 
though man — ungrateful creature — gobbles up the 
results without any such reflection. 

After all, I'm going to be proud of myself, since 
nobody else will praise me ; I'm* proud of myself, I 
say, as I take a cake of glycerine soap to remove the 
working traces from my hands and put my fingers 
in writing order. And then, after all, this had to 
be done ; and one's life can't be all play, and I must 
be woman enough to take my share of the disagreea- 
bles, instead of shirking them like a great coward ; 
for all that, I like a tree better than a broomstick ; a 
fine sunset better than a gridiron ; also I prefer a 
flower-garden to a sewing-machine, if the truth must 
out 



But back again in town, how shall we adapt 
ourselves to its unnatural ways? Every thing 
in the country, animate and inanimate, seems to 
whisper, be serene, be kind, be happy. We grow 
tolerant there unconsciously. We feel that in the 
city we are not only hard, but that we by no means 
get the most out of life. We wonder if, after all, the 
opera is better than the gushing melody which is 
ours for the listening, whenever we will. We won- 
der if the silken sheen of the Queen of Sheba fabrics, 
which our splendid ^ store- windows display, quite 
comes up to the autumnal splendor of the woods and 
mountains, Our bones ache with the necessity of 



180 Folly as it Flies, 

spiclc-and'span-ness trammelling every movement in- 
doors and out. And if, as Goethe asserts, " the 
Tinconscions are alone complete," what chance do 
city people stand of ever being rounded out, men- 
tally and morally, where everybody is on the qui 
Vive lest his neighbor outshine him ? Where the 
must haves multiply faster than rabbits, and grow so 
clamorous that we forget there is a possibility of 
silencing their tyrant voices ? It is so long, too, since 
we have seen a drunkard, or a beggar, or a wretched 
woman who dare not think of her sinless infancy, 
that these things come to us with such an appalling 
newness, that we are shocked and pained that we 
could ever have become accustomed to their pres- 
.ence, or shall ever grow so again, by daily contact. 
We almost dread onrselves. Our life seems 
puerile, and ignoble, and cruel. It seems dreadful 
to take all this wretchedness, and waste of life, as a 
matter of course, and that with which we have 
nothing to do. We can't get used to the worn faces, 
the hu.rried footsteps, the jostling indifference, the 
dust, and grime, and shabbiness through which we 
plunge at every turn. Visions of moss-dripping 
rocks, huge and grand ; sweet, grassy roads, full of 
birds, and darting squirrels ; plentiful orchards and 
barns ; stout, round, rosy children, tumbling therein. 
Cows, with their rich burdens, going slowly home- 
ward. The farmer, brown and happy, sitting with 
his happy wife, in the low doorway, at eventide, 
with peace written upon their faces. Oh, we had 
much rather think of these, and close our eyes on all 



My Summers in New England, 181 

tliis maelstrom-misery, and tinselled grandeur. "We 
feel stifled. We throw np tlie window, and wonder 
what can ail ns? for unrest, unquiet, and strife 
seem to be in the very atmosphere that we breathe. 

We want to get out of it, since the times are out 
of joint, and we can't help everything^ at least. We 
feel a cowardly desire to fly, and simply enjoy our- 
selves ; somewhere, anywhere, but in this Babel of 
odds and ends ; where everything is always begin- 
ning, and never is finished; where mouths keen 
opening, faster than loaves of bread can be baked ; 
where churches are built so grand, that poor people 
can't say a prayer in them ; where rulers are elected 
by whiskey, instead of wisdom ; where, on the other 
side of the thin wall which frames your home, the 
awful tragedies of life and death go on, without a 
thought or care from you; where bitter tears fall, 
which you might, but dorHi assuage, because your 
neighbor, having enough of this world's goods, is 
supposed to need nothing else. 

Oh, I dare say I shall ossify in time ; but at pres- 
ent these thoughts keep me quite miserable after the 
serene, heavenly peace, and plenty, and content of 
the country. 




BOSTON AND NEW YOBK— THE DIFFERENCE, 

W , , 

10 live in Boston is to feel necessitated to wear 

your " Sunday clothes" all througli the week. 

To live in New York is to wear a loose wrap- 
per every day in the seven if you choose, without dan- 
ger of being sent to Coventry for so doing ; not because 
Gotham admires your wrapper, but because it has not 
time or inclination to overhaul so minute a circum- 
stance. In New York, you may wash your one pair of 
stockings every night ; or you may have seven changes 
of the same for all New York will care about it In 
Boston the pedigree of your stockings, shawls, and 
bonnets is, by no contrivance of ingenuity, hidden. 
In New York, good Christians can take a walk on 
Sunday, if it does not lead straight to the church door. 
In Boston, one perils his salvation, and business stand- 
ing, by taking a breath of air that has not first 
blown round a pulpit. In Boston, a rich man or wo- 
man must, in public places, keep within the talisman- 
ic circle marked out for them, nor cross the line of 
demarkation at peril of non-recognition. In New 
York a rich man or woman, by virtue of such posi- 
tion, feels at liberty to, take any loafer-ish jump over 
the customary fence that inclination shall dictate. In 
Boston, the literary knee is not literary, if it has not 



Boston and New York, 183 

knelt before certain slirines. In Kew York, if it is a 
genuine knee, it may kneel or not kneel, so far as per- 
illing its safe foundation is concerned. In Boston, one 
who carries a parcel is supposed not to be able to hire 
it sent. In New York one may carry a double arm- 
fal, witliout being suspected of living at tbe Five 
Points. In Boston, people settle your claims to no- 
tice by inquiring if you know Mr. This or visit Mrs. 
That New York is more interested to know, whether 
you are eligible by virtue of good manners, and gen- 
eral jolliness, without reference to your tailor, hatter, 
or dressmaker. In Kew York, if you choose only to 
board two servants instead of five, and decline wasting 
your life in superintending their neglect of upholstery, 
silver, and china, your intelligence, and irreproachable 
grammar, are considered an equivalent. In Boston, 
under such circumstances, the golden gate turns not 
on its hinges to let you into the crystal city. 

In other words, well as I love old Boston — ^and I 
do love it — I must own that it is a snob of the first 
water. It makes a vast difference what my opinion 
is, of course ; but for all that, when Boston stays all 
its life in Boston, it becomes fossilized, mummy-ized, 
swathed round and round, from neck to heel, so that 
growth and expansion are morally impossible. 

Still, let Boston always be horn in Boston ; but af- 
ter it grows vigorous, if it would stay vigorous, and 
not get the cramp of self-conceit till it can't turn its 
" Boston neck," no matter how loudly the wheel of 
progress is dashing past, let it migrate betimes to 
New York ; where it will get wholesomely thumped 



184: Folly as it Flies, 

and bumped, and its conservative corns pounced upon 
by the rushing crowd ; who will knock its respect- 
able shiny hat over its eyes fifty times a day, all the 
same as though it was not one of the " highly respect- 
able citizens," the state of whose kitchen-chimney is 
gravely reported to a gaping universe, in their daily 
papers. 

I don't know what would become of New York 
had it not its Paradise in the Central Park. I never 
go there without blessing its originator, and wishing 
it might be baptized with a more suggestive and 
prettier name. But never mind names. In its lovely 
October dress, with its sparlding lake, and drooping 
willows, its white swans, its lovely velvet greensward ; 
the myriads of sweet children alighting here and 
there, in their bits of gay dresses, like little hum- 
ming birds or orioles, with happy mothers and fathers 
who have left their cares and frets in the city, and 
come there to be young again for too brief an hour, 
with the little ones ; all this is a picture to feast the 
eye and gladden the heart. In one respect Central 
Park might borrow a hint from Boston Common. 
There the little children are allowed to run upon the 
grass at all times ; not on certain days of the month 
or week as in Central Park. Said a bright little 
child of six the other day, when asked if it would 
like to go to Central Park : " Ko ! ( emphatically ) no I 
I don't want to waste my time going where they won't 
let me step on the grass." 

I sometimes wish that the policeman on duty there — 
so Argus-eyed to arrest the tiny shoe, when tempta- 



Boston and New York, 185 

tion is too strong for cMldliood wMch. lias always 
been cooped within city limits — would bestow 
some of their notice upon the men-loafers who 
stretch themselves at full length upon benches, 
occupying them to the exclusion of the child- 
ren; puffing vile tobacco, and making a spittoon 
of the path through which ladies pass. It strikes 
me there might be an improvement on the strain-at-a- 
gnat and swallow-a-camel system now in vogue there. 

To return to Boston, which I always like to do 
occasionally : that city needs .not our Central Park 
drives, with its lovely and easily accessible environs. 

Here in New York one does not get to the envir- 
ons until it is time to come home ; what with clogged 
streets and ferry-boats, and Babel-hindrances too 
numerous to mention, such as scratched sides of the 
pet carriage, and offcen-recurring "locked wheels," 
the fright of prostrate horses, and the music of pro- 
fanity, from the lips of hurried and irate drivers of 
teams, and drays, in every direction. All this is death 
to the repose one seeks in "a drive." Therefore we 
New Yorkers love our quiet accessible Central Park. 
May its boundaries be limitless as our tax bills ! I 
couldn't say mora But my first love^ — that dear old 
gem of a Boston Common ! How happy were the 
Saturday and Wednesday afternoons, when, under 
the blessed old school system, before children were 
forced with grammar and geography, like hot-house 
plants, — and we had short forenoon and afternoon 
sessions, with the exception of the above-mentioned 
holidays; how happy were the afternoons I spent 



186 Folly as it Flies, 

there, picking buttercups, and blowing off thistle- 
down, " to see if mothers wanted us at home ;" which 
by the way, was sure to be answered in the negative. 
And as to the Frog-Pond — what was the Atlantic 
Ocean to that ? On the Atlantic Ocean, thej had 
dreadful ship-wrecks ; on the Boston Frog-Pond, we 
sent out our tiny ventures, sure to find safe arrivals 
when we ran round the other side of the Pond. 
And the big Tree — ^hooped all round like a modern 
belle — ^with what big eyes of wonder we looked up 
into its branches, as our elders told us wonderful stories 
of what it had seen in its long, eventful life. And 
now there are many big trees where liiile ones used to 
stand. Bless me ! it shows how old I must be ; just 
as it does to go back there and meet in the street 
some radiant fresh young girl, " the very image of 
her mother," with whom I used to play buttercups, 
on Saturday afternoons. There are the same bright 
eyes, and lovely hair, and smiling lips- — ^bless me, how 
old I really must be ! and why don't I walk with a 
stick ? 

And then I laugh as I look up at Boston State- 
House and its awe-inspiring dome of our childhood ; 
and recall the " niembers of the Legislature," crawling 
up and down stairs and galleries like great black ants ; 
and think of the terrific " Inquisition''^ -^oxtl^^ which 
we used to be sure must be going on, inside those won- 
derful halls, and to which Blue-Beard's locked apart- 
ment was nothing. Oh, it is all very funny now, when 
I go there ; and though I sit on a seat in the Com- 
mon, and try to conjure all the myriad hours, and days, 



Boston and New York, 187 

and years, between tlien and now, and tr j to feel like 
the second Methusaleli I am, T declare to you I nev- 
er can do it, — but, instead, catch, myself trotting off 
home under the trees, as briskly as a squirrel. I sub- 
pose, some day, I shall be dead though, for all 
that. 




ABOUT S03IE THINGS IN NEW YORK WHICH 
HAVE INTERESTED ME. 



IHB Battery was my first New York love. I 
shall never forget how completely it took 
possession of me, or how magnetically it 
drew me under the shade of its fine trees, to breathe 
the fresh sea-breeze, and watch the graceful ships 
come and go, or lie calmly at anchor, with every 
line so clearly defined against the bright sky. It 
was not " the fashion," even then, to go there ; so 
much, the better. It is still less the fashion now ; 
but there I found myself, one bright Sunday not 
long since, as I left the leafy loveliness of Trinity 
church, with its sweet choral music still sounding in 
my ears. 

Alas ! for my dear old Battery. The sea is still 
there, to be sure — no " corporation " can meddle 
with that ; and still the picturesque ships come and 
go ; but the blades of grass grow fewer and thinner, 
and the dirty, dusty paths call aloud for a " vigilance 
committee." What a sin and shame! I exclaimed, 
that this loveliest spot in New York should present 
so forlorn an appearance. Is there not room enough 
in the purses and affections of New Yorkers for the 
Central Park and the Battery too ? In good truth. 



Some Things in New York, 189 

wlien I reflect upon it, I am jealous of tTiis new 
aspirant for the public favor. Wliat is a tiorse to a 
ship ? sacrilege tliougli it be to say so. What is the 
gaudy, over-dressed equestrian " swell " of fine ladies 
and fine " Afghans " to the majestic swell of the sea f 
What are the stylish equipages and liveries, to the 
picturesque crowd of newly-arrived emigrants, with 
their funny little, odd-looking babies, their square, 
sturdy forms and bronze faces, chattering happy 
greetings in an unknown tongue, and gazing about 
them bewildered, at the strange sights and sounds of 
a great new city ; or sauntering up to Trinity church, 
and in happy ignorance of novel steeples and creeds, 
dropping on their catholic knees in its aisles, in 
thankful, devout recognition of then- safe arrival in a 
new country. What is the pretty toy-lake, and the 
hearse-like "gondola," and "the swans," and the 
posies, and the "bronze-eagle," and the blue-coated 
policemen, who stand ready to .handle rogues with 
gloves, and white ones at that, to my dear old Bat- 
tery, battered as it is. 

I call capricious, fickle New York to order, for 
thus forsaking the old love for the new. I demand 
an instant settlement of any protracted dispute there 
may be on hand, as to " whose business it is " to ren- 
ovate the Battery, before it quite runs to seed, like 
the City Hall Park. Not that / won't keep on 
going to the Battery, though they should build a 
small-pox hospital on it ; for it is not my way to 
forsake an old friend because he is shabby ; but I 
should like to be a female General Butler, for one 



190 ^ Folly as it Flies, 

montli, and put this business tlirougli in Ms diain- 
lightning executive fashion. 

It is a great plague to be a woman. I think I've 
said that before, but it will bear repeating. Now 
the wharves are a great passion of mine ; I like to 
sit on a pile of boards there, with my boots dangling 
over the water, and listen to the far-off " heave-ho " 
of the sailors in their bright specks of red shirts, and 
see the vessels unload, with their foreign fruits, and 
dream awaj a delicious hour, imagining the places 
they came from ; and I like to climb up the sides of 
ships, and poke round generally, just where Mrs, 
Grundy would lay her irritating hand on my arm 
and exclaim — " What will people think of you ?" 

I am getting sick of people. • I am falling in love 
with things. They hold their tongues and don't 
bother. 



I LIKE also to stroll forth in l^-ew York, just at dusk, 
and see the crowds hurrying homeward. The mer- 
chant, glad to turn his back at last on both profit 
and loss. The laboring man with his tools and his 
empty dinner pail. The weary working-girl, upon 
whose pallid face the fresh wind comes, like the soft 
caressing touch of her mother's fingers. The matron, 
with her little boy by the hand, talking lovingly, as 
he skips by her side. The young man, full of hope 
for the future, looking, with his eagle eye, and fresh- 
tinted cheek, as if he could defy fate. The young 
girl, rejoicing in her prettiness, for the power it 



Some Things' hi New York, 191 

gives lier to winJove and friends. The little beggar 
children, counting their pennies on some doorstep, 
to see how much snpper they will buy. The small 
boot-blacks, who stoop less, after all, than many men 
whose feet they polish, singing as merrily as if they 
were sure of a fortune on the morrow. The brigbt 
glancing lights m the shop windows, touching up 
bits of scarlet, and yellow, and blue, and making 
common beads and buttons gleam like treasures 
untold. The lumbering omnibuses, crawling up 
and down, heavy with, their human freight The 
rapid whirl of gay carriages, with their owners. 
The little bits of conversation one catches in passing, 
showing the depth or shallowness of the speakers. 
The tones of their ^-voices, musical or otherwise. 
The step, awkward or graceful, and the sway of the 
figure. The fading tints of the sky, and the coming 
out of the stars, that find it hard to get noticed among 
so many garish lights. The interior glimpses of 
homes, before caution draws the curtains. N"ow — 
some picture on the wall Now — a maiden sitting at 
the piano. Now — a child, with its cunning little face 
pressed close against the window. Kow — a loving 
couple, too absorbed in the old — old — ^but ever new 
romance, to think that their clasped hands may be 
noted by the passerby. Now — a woman for whom 
your heart aches ; walking slowly; glancing boldly ; 
going anywhere, poor thing ! but — home. Now — 
oh ! the contrast — a husband and wife, with locked 
arms, talking cheerily of their little home matters. 
Now — a policeman with folded arms, standing on 



192 Folly as ii Flies, 

the comer, past being astonished at anything. Now 
a florist's tempting window, whence comes a deli- 
cious odor of tube-roses, and heliotrope, and gera- 
niuuL There is a huge, fragrant pyramid for some 
gay feast. There is a snowy wreath and cross, white 
as the still, dead, face, above which they are soon to 
be laid. There is a snowy coronal for a bride. 
There is a gay, bright-tinted bouquet for an actress. 
Lingering, you look, and muse, and spell out life's 
alphabet, by help of these sweet flowers ; and now 
you are jostled away by a policeman, dragging a 
wretched, drunken woman to the station-house. 

People talk of Niagara, and tell how impressive is 
its roar. What is the roar of a dumb thing like that 
to the roar of a mighty city ? There, souls go down, 
and alas ! the shuttle of life flies so swiftly that few 
stop to heed. 



There are persons who can regard oppression and 
injustice without any acceleration of the pulse. 
There are others who never witness it, how frequent 
soever, without a desperate struggle against non-inter- 
ference, though prudence and policy may both whis- 
per "it's none of your business." I believe, as a 
general thing, that the shopkeepers of New York 
who employ girls and women to tend in their stores, 
treat them courteously; but now and then I have 
been witness to such brutal language to them, in the 
presence of customers, for that which seemed to me 
no offence, or at least a very trifling one, that I have 



Some Thi7igs in New York, 193 

longed for a man's strong riglit arm, summarily to 
settle matters "witli the oppressor. And wlien one 
has been the innocent cause of it, merely by entering 
the store to make a purchase, the obligation to see 
the victim safe through, seems almost imperative. 
The bad policy of such an exhibition of unmanliness 
on the part of a shopkeeper would be, one would 
think, sufficient to stifle the " damn you " to the 
blushing, tearful girl, who is powerless to escape, or 
to clear herself from the charge of misbehavior. 
When ladies " go shopping," in New York, they gen- 
erally expect to enjoy themselves ; though Heaven 
knows, they must be hard up for resources to fancy 
this mode of spending their time, when it can be 
avoided. But, be that as it may, the most vapid can 
scarcely fancy this sort of scene. 

The most disgusting part of such an exhibition is, 
when the gentlemanly employer, having got through 
''damning" his embarrassed victim, turns, with a 
sweet smile and dulcet voice, to yourself, and in- 
quires, " what else he can have the pleasure of show- 
ing you ?" You are tempted to reply, " Sir, I would 
like you to show me that you can respect woman- 
hood, although it may not be hedged about with fine 
raiment, or be able to buy civil words with a full 
purse." But you bite your tongue to keep it quiet, 
and you linger till this Nero has strolled off, and 
then you say to the girl, "I am so sorry to have 
been the innocent cause of this I" and you ask, 
"Does he often speak this way to you?" and she 
says, quietly, as she rolls up the ribbons or replaces 
9 



194 Folly as it Flies, 

the boxes on the shelves, " Kever in any other !" It 
is useless to ask her why she stays, because you 
know something about women's wages and women's 
work in the crowded city ; and you know that, till 
she is sure of another place, it is folly for her to 
think of leaving this. And you think many other 
things as yon say Good-morning to her as kindly as 
you know how ; and you turn over this whole " wo- 
man-c[uestion " as you run the risk of being knocked 
down and run over in the crowded thoroughfare 
thi'ough which you pass ; and the jostle, and hurry, 
and rush about you, seem to make it more hopeless 
as each eager face passes you, intent on its own plans, 
busy with its own hopes and fears — staggering per- 
haps under a load either of the soul or body, or 
both, as heavy as the poor shop-girl's, and you gasp 
as if the air about had suddenly become too thick to 
breathe. And then you reach your own door-step, 
and like a guilty creature, face your dressmaker,, 
having forgotten to " match that trimming ;" and 
you wonder if you were to sit down and write about 
this evil, if it would deter even one employer JOt'om 
such brutality to the shop-girls in his employ; not 
because of the brutality, perhaps, but because by 
such a short-sighted policy, he might often drive 
away from his store, ladies who would otherwise be 
profitable and steady customers. 



Theke is an animal peculiar to Kew-York, who 
infests every nook and corner of it, to everybody's 



Some things m New York. 195 

disgust but liis own. He is a boy in years, but a 
man in vicious knowledge. Every woman wbo is 
unfortunate enough, to be in Ms presence is simply a 
she — ^notbing more. He may be seen making a 
cbarmed cu'cle of expectoration, about tbe seat be 
occupies in a ferry-boat, ferry-house, or car, while 
she stands half fainting with exhaustion, in hearing 
distance of his coarse, prurient remarks to some other 
little beast like himself Pea-nuts are the staple 
food of this creature, the shells of which he snaps 
dexterously at those about him, when other means 
of amusement give out. When a public conveyance 
has reached its point of destination, this animal is 
the first to " make an insane rush for egress, treading 
down young children, and tearing ladies' clothing in 
his triumphal march. Sometimes he stops on the 
way to "bung out the eye" of an oif ending young- 
ster, in so tight a place for a combat that somebody's 
corpse seems inevitable. Terrified ladies, who would 
fain give him elbow room if they had it, faintly ejac- 
ulate " Oh !" as they squeeze themselves into the 
smallest breathable space; nor does he desist, till his 
adversary is punished for the crime of existing, .with- 
out this brute's permission; he then emerges into 
the open street, settling his greasy jacket and indes- 
cribable bat, muttering oaths, and squaring off occa- 
sionally, as he looks behind him, as though he 
wished somebody else was " spiling for a licking." 

Often this animal may be found in the city parks ; 
where the city coi'poration generously furnishes 
about one seat to every hundred children, and select- 



196 Folly as it Flies, 

ing tlie shadiest and most eligible, stretches himself 
on it upon his stomach, while tired little children 
and their female attendants, wander round in vain 
for a resting-place. Sometimes sitting upon it, he 
will stretch out his leg so as to trip some unwary, 
happy little child in passing ; or perhaps he will sud- 
denly give a deafening shout in its ear, for the pleas- 
ure of hearing it cry ; or from a pocket well stuffed 
with pebbles will skillfully pelt its clean clothes 
from a safe distance ; and sometimes this animal, 
who smokes at ten years like a man of forty, will 
address a passing lady with such questions as these : 

"Oh, aint you bully? Oh, give her room enough 
to walk ! — oh, yes !" Or, " Who's your beau, Sally ?" 
which last cognomen seems with them to constitute 
a safe guess. 

When not otherwise occupied, this young gentle- 
man writes offensive words on door-steps and fences 
■with bits of chalk, which he keeps on hand for this 
purpose. Or, if a servant has just nicely cleaned a 
window, he chews gum into little balls wherewith to 
plastei it ; or he kicks over an ash-barrel in passing 
upon a nicely swept side- walk ; or he rings the door- 
bell violently, and makes a flj^ng exit, having ascer- 
tained previously the policeman's "beat" on that 
district ; or he climbs the box round a favorite tree, 
which has just begun by its grateful shade to refresh 
your eye and reward your care, and, stripping off 
the most promising bough for a switch, goes up 
street picking off the leaves and scattering them as 
he goes ; or he will stand at the bottom of a high 



Some Things in New York, 197 

fliglit of steps, upon tlie top step of wMcli is a lady 
waiting for admittance, and scream, "Oh, my — aint 
you got bully boots on?" He also is expert at steal- 
ing newspapers from door-steps, and vociferating 
bogus extras about shocking murders and fires, and 
" lass of life ;" and flowers out in full glory in a red 
shirt, in a pit of a Bowery theatre of an evening. 

Sometimes he diverts himself throwing stones at 
the windows of passing cars, and splintering the glass 
into the eyes of frightened ladies and children, and 
suddenly disappearing as if the earth had opened 
and swallowed him, as you wish some day it would. 

What this boy will be as a man, it is not difficult 
to tell. He counts one at the ballot-box, remember 
that, when you deny cultivated, intelligent, loyal 
women a vote there. 



If there is one sight more offensive to me in Kew 
York than another, it is that of a servant in livery. 
Daily my republican soul is vexed by the different 
varieties of this public nuisance. Sometimes he ap- 
pears to me in the sacerdotal garb — a long, petticoat-y 
suit of solemn black, with stainless stiff white cravat. 
Then again he crosses my path, bedizzened in blue, 
with yellow facings, and top-boots. Then again he 
flames out like a poll-parrot, in green coat, and scar- 
let waistcoat. Again, his white gloves, and broad hat- 
band, are the only public advertisements of his servi- 
tude. Generally upon the hat of this animal is mount- 
ed the " cockade," which his parvenu master imagines 



198 Folly as it Flies, 

is just tlie tiling, but wMch in reality is in " tlie old 
country" only worn by servants of military men. 
Yesterday I saw *a veMcle, in which was seated a 
gentleman , driving a fine pair of horses, and behind 
him, on a small seat, was his man-servant with, his 
arms folded like a trussed turkey, and his hack turned 
to his master. This last fact seemed to me a very 
funny one; but, I dare say, it is satisfactorily ac- 
counted for in some book of heraldry, unfortun- 
ately not in my library. Now, it is not for a 
moment to be supposed, that when but so lately 
the nation was struggling for its "God-given rights," 
that the men of America are interested in these finikin- 
equine-millineiies. Of course not. They are to be 
pitied ; they are undoubtedly the too compliant victims 
of weak wives and silly daughters. For themselves, 
I have no doubt they are sick at their manly hearts 
at these servile and badly-executed imitations of old- 
country flunkeyism, and blush, with an bonest shame, 
at being obliged to parade this disgusting and ill-timecl 
exhibition, in the same streets where our maimed sol- 
diers are limping home, with our torn and blackened 
flag, which, tells so well its mute, eloquent story. 



Let me speak of a pleasanter topic : my visit to 
the newsboys. One Sunday evening I went to "The 
Kewsboys' Lodging House, 128 Fulton Street, ISTew 
York." Few people who stop these little fellows in 
the street to purchase a paper, ever glance at their 
faces, much less give a thought to their belongings, 



Some Things in New York, 199 

associations or condition. Oh ! had jou only been 
down there with me that evening, and looked into 
those hundred and fifty intelligent, eager faces, num- 
bered their respective ages, inquired into their friend- 
less past, given a thought to the million temptations 
with which ih^v!: jpresent is surrounded, spite of all the 
well directed efforts of Christian philanthropy, and 
looked forward into their possible future, your eyes 
would have filled, and your heart beat quicker, as 
you have said to yourself, Oh, yes ; something inust 
be done to save these children. 

Children ! for many of them are no more. Chil- 
dren I already battling with life, though scarce past 
the nursery age. Imagine your own dear boy, with 
the bright eyes and the broad, white forehead, whom 
you tuck so comfortably in his little soft bed at 
night, with a prayer and a kiss ; whom you look at 
the last thing on retiring ; for whom you gladly ^ 
toil ; whom you hedge around with virtuous, whole- 
some influences from the cradle ; who does not yet 
know even the meaning of the word " evil ;" who 
jumps into your arms as soon as he wakes in the 
morning, with the sweet certainty of a warm love- 
clasp ; who has the nicest bit, at breakfast, laid on 
his little plate ; whose little stories and questions 
always find eager and sympathizing ears; imagine 
this little fellow of seven or eight, or ten years, 
getting out of his bed at one or two o'clock in the 
morning, going out into the dark, chill, lonesome 
street, half-clad, hungry, alone to some newspaper 
of&ce, to wait for the damp morning papers, as they 



200 Folly as it Flies, 

are worked from the press, and seizing his bundle, 
hurrying, barefoot and shivering, to some newspaper 
stand or depot, at the farther part of the city. Im- 
agine your little Charley doing that ! Then, if that 
were all ! If this drain on the physical immatmity 
of childhood were the worst of it. The devil laughs 
as he knows it is not. Big boys — men^ even — cheat ; 
why not he ? If he can pass off bad change — surely, 
who has more need to make a sixpence, though it be 
not an honest one? What care customers if he 
grow up a good or a bad man, so that the newspaper 
comes in time to season their warm breakfast ? Who 
will ever care for him living, or mourn for him dead ? 
What does it matter, anyhow ? 

That's the way this poor friendless child reasons. 
I understood it all last night. All too that this 
noble philanthropy called " The ]N"ewsboys' Lodging 
House" meant And as I looked round on those 
boys, I felt afraid when they were addressed, that the 
right thing might not be said to so peculiar an 
audience. For children though they were, they had 
seen life as men see it. Untutored, uneducated, in 
one sense, in others they knew as much as any adult 
who should address them. Sharpened by actual 
hard-fisted grappling with the world, let him be 
careful who should speak to these grown-up children 
of seven, and ten, and fourteen years. Thinking 
thus, I said, as their friend, Mr. C. L. Brace, rose to 
speak — ^pray God, he may take all this into consider- 
ation. Pray God, he may give them neither creeds 
nor theology ; but, instead, the wide open arms of 



Some Thinc^s in New York, 201 



*<i> 



the good, pitiful, loving Saviour, whose home on 
earth was with the lowly and the friendless. And he 
did ! It was a human address. The God he told 
them of was not out of their reach. It was every 
word pure gold. Bless him for it ! He had them 
all by the hand, and the heart too. I saw that. 
Promptly, frankly, and with the confidence of chil- 
dren in the family, they answered his questions as to 
their views on the chapter in the Bible he read thenx 
And if you smiled at some of their queer notions, 
the tear was in your eye the next minute at the 
blessed thought that they had friends who cared 
whether the immortal part of them slumbered or 
woke ; who recognized and fanned into a flame even 
the smallest particle of mentality. Now and then 
among the crowd a head or face would attract your 
eye, and you would be lost in wonder to see it there! 
The head and face of what I call " a mother s hoyy 
God knows if its owner had one, or, if it had, if she 
cared for him ! And as they sang together of " The 
Friend that never grew weary," my heart responded, 
aye — aye — why should I forget that ? 

I hope you will go — and you and you — on some 
Sabbath evening, if you come to ISTew York. They 
love to feel that people take an interest in them. It 
brightens and cheers their lives. It gives them self- 
respect and motive for trying to do right ; and don't 
forget to ask the Superintendent, Mr. Conner, to 
show you the nice little beds where they sleep. Do 
go ; and if you can say a few words to them, or tell 
them a brightshort story, so much the better. They 



202 Folly as it Flies, 

will know jou next time thej sell you a newspaper; 
don't forget to sliake hands witli tliem then. And 
take your little pet boy Charley down there. Show 
him the little fellows who go into business in New 
York at seven and ten years old, and have no father 
or mother at night to kiss them to sleep. It will be 
a lesson better than any he will ever learn at school. 
He will find out that all boys are not born to plum- 
cake and sugar candy, and some of the best and 
smartest boys too. He will open his eyes when you 
tell him that without plum-cake, or candy, or a 
grandpa, or an aunt, or father or mother to care for 
them, some of the newsboys who came from that 
very house, to-day own farms in the West, that they 
earned selling newspapers, and have since come back 
for other newsboys to go out there and help them 
work on it. Tell Charley that. I think he will be 
ashamed to cry again because there was ''not sugar 
enough in his milk." 



People who visit a great city, and explore it 
with a curious eye, generally overlook the most 
remarkable things in it. They " do it up " in Guide- 
Book fashion, going the stereotyped rounds of cus- 
tom-ridden predecessors. If my chain were a little 
longer, I would write you a book of travels that 
would at least have the merit of ignoring the usual 
finger-posts that challenge travellers. I promise 
you I would cross conservative lots, and climb over 
conservative fences, and leave the rags and tatters of 



Some T/mzos hi New York, 203 



*^ 



custom fluttering on tTiem, behind me, as I strode on 
to some unfrequented hunting-ground. 

That's the way I'd do. Never a " lord " or " lady," 
or a '' palace," or a picture galleiy," should figure in 
my note-book. " Old masters " and young masters 
would be all the same to me. When my book was 
finished, if nobody else wanted to read it, I'd sit 
down and read it myself Of course you know such 
a method pre-supposes a little capital to start with, 
at the present price of paper ; but really, I put it to 
you, wouldn't that be the only honest and racy way 
to write a book ? 

Don't be alarmed — there's no chance of my doing 
it I dream of it, though, sometimes — this delicious- 
ness of " speaking right out in meetin' " without 
fear of the bugbear of -excommunication. And 
speaking of "meetin,"' that's what I have been 
coming at The "Fulton-street daily prayer- 
meeting." It is one of the most wonderful sights in 
New York. In the busiest hour of the day, in its 
busiest business street, noisy with machinery of all 
kindSy even the earth under your feet sending out 
puffs of steam at every other step, to remind you of 
its underground labor, is a little plain room, with a 
reading-desk and a few benches, with hymn-books 
scattered about Take a seat, and watch the wor- 
shippers as they collect. Men^ with only a sprink- 
ling of bonnets here and there. Business men, 
evidently ; 'some with good coats, some with bad ; 
porters, hand-cartmen, policemen, ministers ; the 
young man of eighteen or twenty, the portly maq of 



204: Folly as it Flies. 

forty, and tlie bent form, whitening head, and falter- 
ing step of age. For one liour tliey want to ignore, 
and get out of, tliat maelstrom-wliirl, into a spiritual 
atmosphere. They feel that they have souls as well 
as bodies to care for, and they don't want to forget 
it. How lonely soever yonder man, in that great 
rough coat, may be, in this great, strange city, to 
which he has just come, here is sympathy, here is 
companionship, here are, in the best sense, " breth- 
ren." Never mind creeds; that is not what they 
assemble to discuss. But has that man a burden^ a 
grief or a sorroiu, lohich is intensified tenfold by want 
of sympathy ? Nobody knows his name ; nobody 
is curious to know. He has sent a little slip of 
paper np to the desk, and he wants them all to pity 
and pray for him. It may be the man on this seat, 
or that yonder — nobody knows. Yes — ''^ra?/"for 
him. Perhaps you are smiling. You " don't be- 
lieve in prayer." Oh, wait till some strand of 
earthly hope is parting, before you are quite sure of 
that Was there ever an hour of peril or human 
agony through which he or she who "did not 
believe in prayer," was passing, that the lips did not 
involuntarily frame the short prayer, " Oh, God?" 

Well, they '' pray " for him. He feels stronger 
and better as he listens. He has found friends, even 
here in this great whirling city, who are sorry for 
him ; of whose circle he can make one, whenever he 
chooses ; and to whom he can more fully introduce 
himself, if he cares to be better known. 

/ say it is a good and a noble thing. It warrne^ 



Some Things in New York, 205 

and gladdened mj heart to see it. And all tlie 
more, tliat at every step, on leaving, I saw the 
" traps " of the Evil One, sprung for that man's 
return footsteps. 

One of the pleasantest features of this " one-hour 
meeting " to me was the hymns. I don't know or 
care whether they were "sung in tune." It ^wasn't 
hired singing, thank God ! It came straight from 
orthodox lungs, with a will and a spirit. Those old 
" come-to-Jesus " hymns ! I tell you I long for 
them sometimes with a homesick longing, like that 
of the exiled Swiss for his favorite mountain song. 
You may pick up the hymn-books containing them, 
and with yonr critical forefinger point to " hell " and 
" an angry Grod," and all that. It makes no differ- 
ence to me. Don't I take pleasure in looking at 
your face, though your nose isn't quite straight, and 
your eyes are not perfect, and your shoulders are not 
shaped to my mind. I don't mind tliat^ so that 
there's a heart-tone in your voice, a love-look in 
your eye, when I'm heart-sore — don't you see ? 

Oh ! I liked that meeting. I'm going again. It 
was so homely, and hearty, and Christian. One 
man said, " tliein souls." Do you think I flounced 
out of the meeting for that ? I liked it. One poor 
foreigner couldn't pronounce straight, for the life of 
him. So much the better. His stammering tongue 
will be all right some day. I haven't the least idea 
who all those people were, singing and praying 
there; but I never can tell you how I liked it. 
That " Come to Jesus " was sung with a heart-ring 



206 Folly as it Flies, 

that I haven't stopped hearing, yet, though I have 
slept on it once or twice. You may say "priest- 
craft !" " early education !" and all that. There are 
husks with the wheat, I know ; but for all that — I 
tell you there is wheat ! 



With submission, to the authorities it seems 
to me that the Sunday Schools of to-day are 
somewhat perverted from the original intention 
of their founders. As I understand it, their ob- 
ject was to collect the children of poor, ignor- 
ant parents for Biblical instruction. I look out of 
my window, every Sunday morning, upon the 
spectacle of gaily attired little ladies and gentlemen, 
leaving their brown-stone fronts of handsome dwell- 
ings, and tripping lightly in dainty boots to the ves- 
tries of well-to-do churches. As I watch them, I 
wonder why their parents, educated, intelligent peo- 
ple, or at least with plenty of leisure, should shift 
upon the shoulders of Sunday-school teachers so 
responsible a duty ? I say " duty," and it is a cold, 
hard word to use, in connection with a dear little child 
whose early lessons on religious subjects should be 
carefully and cautiously and judiciously unfolded. 
I cannot understand, and I say this without meaning 
any disrespect to the great army of well-meaning, 
good-hearted Sunday-school teachers all over the land, 
how these parents can reserve to themselves on Sun- 
day morning only the dear pleasure of decking their 
little persons in gay Sunday attire, and never ask— 



Some Things in New York, 207 

never inquire — never think — ^what may be the answer 
given by a Sunday-school teacher, to the far reach- 
ing childish question, which may involve a lifetime 
of bewilderment, perplexity, and spiritual unrest, to 
the little creature, each shining fold of whose garment 
has been smoothed and patted into place by these '' dot- 
ing ■' parents ; it may be treasonable to say so, but it 
seems to me an unnatural proceeding. Then again I 
think these children should not occupy the time and 
attention of teachers, while the poor, who are always 
with us, are totally uninstructed, far beyond all the hu- 
mane attempts that have been made, and are daily mak- 
ing, to accomplish this purpose. Surely no teacher 
whose heart is in his or her work, would let the want 
of fine clothes stand in the way of such effort. Now 
when I see the children in a locality like the Five 
Points, or in the various mission schools established 
for the benefit of children, I say — Now that is " a 
Sunday-school " after the plan of the founders. 
These children, who have nothing inviting at their 
miserable homes on Sunday; whose weary parents 
have no heart or strength or knowledge for these 
things ; gathered in here by kind men and women ; 
to whom this weekly reunion is perhaps the 
only bright spot in their whole little horizon ; who 
sing their little songs with real heart and feeling; 
who believe in their teachers, because they know 
they have come down to inodorous, disagreeable 
localities, and love them because their lives are 
not cast in pleasant places ; these teachers who, 
if the children have had no dinner or breakfast, 



208 Folly as it Flies, 

give tliem dinner or breakfast — why — that I call a 
practical Sunday School ! It is a blessed thing ; 
and no one can listen to the hearty singing of 
these little nncared-for waifs of the street, without a 
choking feeling in the throat, that, if voiced, would 
be, God bless these teachers ? If they were taught 
nothing-but those simple little songs, it were worth all 
the time, and money, and self-sacrifice involved in 
the teaching. 

Those words ring in their ears during the week. 
They sing them on the door-steps of the miserable 
dwellings they call home ; there is a " heaven " some- 
where, they feel, where misery, and dirt, and degrada- 
tion are unknown. The passer-by listens — some dis- 
couraged man, perhaps, whom the world has roughly 
used — some wretched woman who weeps, as, she lis- 
tens ; and this little bit of Gospel, so unobtrusive, so 
accidental, so sweetly voiced, is like the seed the 
wind wafts to some far-off rock — ^when you look 
again, there is the full-blown flower ; no one knew 
how it took root or whence it came, but, thank God, 
winds and storms have no power to dislodge it. My 
heart warms to such Sunday-schools ; and, without 
any wish to disparage others, I cannot but think that, 
if the parents who are in condition to instruct their 
own children, would not delegate this duty, the hun- 
dreds of teachers by this means freed, might gather 
in the stray lambs, whose souls and bodies no man 
cares for. 



Some Things in New York, 209 

The stranger in New York will not find that its 
population affect Evening Lectures as much as in 
smaller cities, and in rural districts, owing to the sur- 
feit of all kinds of amusements there ; but it is very 
curious to study an expectant audience in New York. 
Some sit resignedly upon their seats, comfortable or 
the reverse, as the case may be ; thinking of nothing, 
or thinking of something, just as it happens, in a sort 
of amiable-chew the-cud-stupor, oblivious of the slow- 
dragging moments. Others pull out watches for fre- 
quent consultation, shuffle feet, and take an affection- 
ate and mournful and fond look at a furtive cigar, 
which can be of no possible present use. Others, 
with an enviable forethought, draw from the depths 
of coat-pockets the daily papers, and studiously apply 
themselves to the contents, to the manifest envy of 
that improvident class who are obliged to fall back 
upon the unsatisfactory employment of twiddling 
their fidgety thumbs. As for the ladies^ bless 'em ! 
they are never at a loss. Are there not gloves to 
pull off, to show a diamond ring to advantage, and 
glistening bracelets to settle, and the last finishing 
polish to put upon hair, already groomed to the satin 
smoothness of a respectable hair-sofa ? This duty 
done, the first bonnet within range passes under the 
inspection of an inexorable martinet, viz : •' Did she 
make it herself?" or, " Is it the approved work of a 
milliner?" "Does her hair curl naturally?" or, 
"Does she curl it?" "Is her collar reaZ lace?" or, 
"Only imitation?" These professional detective- 
queries, so amusing to the general female mind, 



210 Folly as it Flies, 

while awaj tlie time edifjinglj, especially wlien there 
is a variety of heads within eye-range for minute in- 
spection. 

"What can slie have to tell us tliat we did not 
know before ?"' I heard some one say, as we took our 
seats in the Lecture-room to hear a Female Lecturess. 
Have you always, thought I, heard new and original 
remarks from the Tfiale speakers, whose audiences 
yawned through fifty-cents- worth of bombast, and 
platitudes, and repetition, in this very place ? And 
is it not worth while, sometimes, to look at a subject 
from an intelligent womaris stand-point ? And 
granting she were wanting in every requisite that 
you consider essential in a public speaker, if she can 
draw an audience, why shouldn't she fill her pocket ? 
Is it less commendable than marrying somebody — 
anybody — for the sake of being supported, and find- 
ing out too late, as many women do, that it is the 
toughest possible way of getting a living? As I 
view it, her life is not unpleasant. She takes long 
journeys alone^ it is true — and very likely so she 
would have to do, if she took any, were she married. 
At least, she circulates about in the fresh air, among 
fresh people, makes many acquaintances, and, let us 
hope, some friends ; instead of gnawing the bone of 
monotony all her colorless life. And what if a hiss 
should meet her sensitive ear from some adder in her 
audience ? .Does it sting more than would a brutal 
word at her own fireside, whither she was lured by 
promises of love until death ? 



Some Things in New York, 211 

If conservatism is stocked to hear a' woman speak 
in public, let conservatism stay awaj; but let it be 
consistent, and not forget to frown on its own women, 
wbo elbow and pusb their way in a crowded as- 
sembly, and with sharp tongue and hurrying feet 
"grab" — yes, that's the word — the most eligible seat, 
or who push into public conveyances already filled 
to over-flowing, and, with brazen impudence, wonder 
aloud " if these are gentlemenj^ as they tiy to look 
them out of their seats. There be many ways a wo- 
man can " unsex " herself, beside lecturing in public. 

Not that I see, either, how they can get up and 
do it. Somebody would have to put me on my de- 
fence ; or somebody I loved dearly must be starving, 
and need the fee I should get, before / could muster 
the requisite courage ? but none the less do I honor 
those who can do it. So many have acquitted them- 
selves honorably in this field of labor, that this sub- 
ject needs neither defender nor apologist ; but still, 
much of the old spirit of opposition occasionally 
manifests itself, even now, in spiteful comments from 
lip and pen, particularly with regard to the more for- 
tunate. 

They can stand it ! — ^with a good house over their 
independent heads, secured and paid for by their 
own honest industry. They can stand it 1 — with 
greenbacks and Treasury notes stowed away against 
a rainy day. They can stand it ! — with any quantity 
of " admirers " who, not having pluck or skill enough 
to earn their own living, would gladly share what 
these enterprising women have accumulated. Aiay 



212 Folly as it Flies, 

a good Providence multiply female lecturers, female 
sculptors, female artists of every sort, female authors, 
female astronomers, female book-keepers, female — 
anything that is honest, save female semj)stresses^ 
with their pale faces, hollow eyes and empty pockets, 
and a City Hospital or Almshouse in prospective: 



Certainly these earnest women lecturers are in 
pleasant contrast to many of the young men of the 
present day, to whom nothing is sacred, to whom 
everything in life is levelled to the same plane of in- 
difference. Nothing is worth a struggle; nothing 
worth a sacrifice to them. Evils, they say, must 
come; and, folding their hands idly, they say — let 
them come. In their moral garden, weeds have 
equal chance with the flowers ; and it is very easy to 
see which are in the ascendant. To be in the blight- 
ing proximity of such a person is to breathe the air 
of the bottomless pit. Every noble aspiration, every 
humane and philanthropic • feeling, shrivels in such 
an atmosphere. What is it to them that the poor 
bondman points to his chains ? What is it to them 
that the world groans with wrong that they can and 
should at least begin to redress. The mountain is 
steep, the top is hidden in clouds, and they have no 
eye to discern that they are even now parting that a 
glory may gild its summit. It is bad enough — hu- 
miliating enough — ^to hear the aged express such chill- 
One can have a pitying patience 



Some Things in New York, 213 

with them; but when masculine youth and vigor, 
born to the glorious inheritance of 1864, tricks itself 
out in these old moth-eaten, time-worn garments, in- 
stead of buckling on sword and helmet for God and 
the right, it is the saddest, most disheartening sight 
that earth can show. 



And speaking of young men, did you ever, when 
shopping in New York, notice the different varieties 
of clerks one sees. There is your zealous clerk, who 
thinks fuss is impressive. When you enter, he 
places one hand on the counter and turns a somerset 
over to the other side, with an astonishing agility 
equalled only at the circus ; he twitches down the 
desired piece of goods from the shelf and slaps it 
down on the counter with a whirlwind velocity 
that would send your bonnet through the door into 
the street were it not fastened firmly on by the 
strings. You catch your breath and sneeze at the 
dust he has raised, and trust that this part of the 
performance is over. Not at all ; he repeats it with 
another elevation of the piece of goods in the air, 
announcing the price per yard, just as its second 
flapping descent makes said announcement inaudi- 
ible. You sneeze again as the dust fills your nos- 
trils, and stoop to pick up your handkerchief which 
he has sent flying to the floor. By this time, if you 
can recollect what it is you came to buy, or how 
many yards of the same you desire, you have more 
self-possession and patience than L 



2M Folly as it Flies. 

Then there is your stupid clerk, who thinks you 
mean blue when you say green ; who thinks flannel 
and ribbon are one and the same article ; who gives 
you short measure and short change if you buy, and 
impresses you with the idea that he "don't come 
home till morning." Then there is your impertinent 
clerk, who puts his face unnecessarily close to your 
bonnet ; who assures you that every article he sells 
is " chaste," if you know what that means in such a 
connexion ; who inquires, before you have even 
glanced at the fabric, " how many yards you said 
you would require?" who leans forward on both 
elbows and stares you in the face as if his very soul 
were exhaling. Hes a study ! Then there's your 
inattentive clerk, who makes you wait for an answer 
while he finishes some discussion with a brother 
clerk, or details to him some grievance he has 
suffered with the princi|)al of the establishment, or 
narrates to him some personal affair, apart from busi- 
ness ; meanwhile tossing for your inspection, as one 
would throw a bone to a troublesome dog, any piece 
of goods that comes handiest, to occupy your mind 
till he gets ready to attend you. Then there's your 
surly clerk, who acts as though he were afflicted 
with a perpetual cold in his head, that incapacitates 
him from giving any information you require, save 
by piecemeal, and at long intervals, but who has yet 
a marvellous quick ear to catch any conversation 
that may be going on between you and your com- 
panion ; who, if the latter ventures to remark to you 
confidentially that she has seen the article under 



Some Things in New York, 215 

consideration at less cost, at sncli or sucli a place, 
volunteers tlie civil remark " tliat it must have been 
a beauty !" Then, there's your clerk with a high 
and mighty presence. What ! ask him the price of 
a ribbon, or a yard of silk ? Shade of Daniel Web- 
ster forbid ! The idea is sacrilege. You pass to 
another counter as fast as possible, in search of 
some more ordinary mortal, capable of understand- 
ing petty human wants. Then, there's your dandy 
clerk. Isn't that cherry-colored neck-tie killing? 
And the sleeve-buttons on those wristbands ? And 
the way that hair is brushed? And the seal-ring 
on that little finger? And the cut of that coat, 
particularly about the shoulders, and the lovely fit 
of the sleeves. Don't he consider himself an orna- 
ment to the shop ? 

Last, not least, there's your sensible, self-respect- 
ing, gentlemanly clerk — young or old, married or 
single, as the case may be — incapable alike of offi.- 
ciousness or inattention ; who gives you time silently 
to look at that which you desire to see ; who 
answers you civilly and respectfully when you speak 
to him ; who counts your change carefully for you, 
and sends you off with the desire to make another 
purchase at that shop the very first opportunity. 

As to \ki<d female clerks, my pen is fettered there ; 
as I always make it a rule to stand by my own sex 
in any and every attempt to earn their own liveli* 
hood innocently and honestly, no matter how many 
blunders they make in doing it. Sufl&ce it to say 
that there is quite as much variety in their deport- 



216 Folly as it Flies, 

nient as in that of the males. I think if I were 
about to join them, I should be sadly puzzled 
whether to choose a male or female shop-proprietor. 
When a man is a brute, he is such a brute ! And 
when one's bread and butter depends on him, heaven 
help the dependent. JSTow, one could call a woman- 
proprietor a " nasty thing," and then she'd say, " you 
are another," and there'd be an end of it. But a 
man-brute would " know the law," as he calls it ; 
and swear that he'd ^' paid you your salary, and didn't 
owe you a cent ;" and scare you, if you were not up 
to such rascality, with what he could say if you made 
him any trouble. Or, if you were yoimg and pretty, 
you might have to choose between the endurance of 
his condescending attentions or the loss of your 
place. That much I can say on the subject. Also 
that I have seen some of the prettiest and most lady- 
like women I ever saw, employed as clerks in New 
York ; also there are some so ill-mannered that they 
pretend not to hear what you inquire for, and keep 
you standing till they have taken a minute inven- 
tory of the dry-goods on your back. Then there are 
some who look so utterly weary and homesick and 
heartsick, that you long to say — " Poor thing ! come 
cry it all out on my shoulder." 



A MOENING AT STEWAET'S. 

It is not often that I treat myself to a stroll into 
Stewart's great shop. Mortal woman cannot be- 



Some Things in New York, lYl 

hold siicli perfection too often and live. It is like a 
view of the vast ocean, so humiliating and depressing 
bj its immensity and sublimity that httle atoms of hu- 
manity are glad to creep away from it, to some locally- 
big elevation of their own . Once in a while, when I 
feel strong enough to bear it, when the day is very 
bright, and the atmosphere propitious, I put on a bold 
face and plunge in with the throng. When I say 
"throng " I don't wish to be understood as meaning 
anything like a mob. It is a very curious circum- 
stance that how objectionably soever " throngs " may 
behave elsewhere , even that most disorderly of all 
throngs, a t6;o??za?2-throng — yet at Stewart's so sugges- 
tive of order and system is the place, that immedi- 
ately on entering, they involuntarily '' fall into 
line," like proper little Sunday scholars in a pro- 
cession, and never shuffle or elbow the least bit. 
Perhaps they are astonished into good behavior by the 
sight of those well-behaved statuesque clerks — I 
don't know. Perhaps with the artistic manner in 
which yonder silky -inky bearded Italian-looking, red- 
neck-tied gentleman, has arranged the different shades 
of silk on yonder counter; so that, as the light falls 
on it from the window, it looks like a splendid dis- 
play of folded tulips and roses. Perhaps it is the 
imposing well-to-do portly individual who walks up 
and down between the rows of counters, snapping 
his eyes about, as if to say — " Ladies, if this don't suit 
you, what in heaven's name ivillP Perhaps it is 
the eel-like manner in which little " Cash " winds in 
and out, with his neatly-tied parcels, and bank-bills 
10 



218 Folly as it Flies » 

and change. Perhaps it is the astounding sight of 
yonder fur-cape, as displayed to advantage on one 
of those revolving lay-figures. Perhaps it is the 
cloak room u.p-stairs, where the ladies sigh as they 
tumble over heaps of beautiful garments, unable 
to choose from such a superfluity. "How happy could 
I be with either, were the other dear charmer away !" 
Perhaps 'tis the thought of the money that must have 
been expended in this wonderful Juniper store, inside 
and out, first and last, and " if they only had it, " how 
many diamonds, and laces, and silks it would buy, all 
at once ; instead of taking it in disgraceful little install- 
ments from their stingy husbands, so that they posi- 
tively blush when Stewart's factotum inquires, *' Any 
thing more this morning, ma'am ?" to be obliged to 
answer " No." I don't pretend to comprehend the 
talismanic spell ; but I know that at other than 
Stewart's I see those very women, snub and brow-beat 
clerks, and put on astounding airs generally, as women 
will when let out on a shopping spree. — I see none 
of it there. Indeed, I sometimes think that if the 
great Stewart himself were bodily to order them out, 
they would neither mutter, nor peep mutinously ; but 
turn about, like a flock of sheep, and obediently leap 
over the threshold. The amount of it is, Stewart is 
a sort of dry-goods " Karey." Perhaps husbands wink 
at the thing and give the little dears coppers to spend 
there on purpose — I don't know. 




^r<: 



THE WORKING-GIRLS OF NEW YORK, 



)WHEEE more tlian in New York does tlie 
contest between squalor and splendor so 
sharply present itself. This is the first re- 
flection of the observing stranger who walks its 
streets. Particularly is this noticeable with regard to 
its women. Jostling on the same pavement with the 
dainty fashionist is the care-worn working-girl. Look- 
ing at both these women, the question arises, which 
lives the more miserable life — she whom the world 

styles " fortunate, " whose husband belongs to three 
clubs, and whose only meal with his family is an oc- 
casional breakfast, from year's end to year's end ; who 
is as much a stranger to his own children as to the 
reader ; whose young son of seventeen has already a 
detective on his track employed by his father to as- 
certain where and how he spends his nights and his 
father's money ; swift retribution for that father who 
finds food, raiment, shelter, equipages for his house- 
hold ; but love, sympathy, companionship — never ? 
Or she — this other woman — with a heart quite as 
hungry and unappeased, who also faces day by day 
the same appalling question : Is this all life has for 
mef . 

A great book is yet unwritten about women. 
Michelet has aired his wax-doll theories regarding 



220 Folly as it Flies. 

them. The defender of " woman's rights " has given 
us her views. Authors and authoresses of little, and 
big repute, have expressed themselves on this sub- 
ject, and none of them as yet have begun to grasp it : 
men — because they lack spirituality, rightly and 
justly to interpret women ; women — because they 
dare not, or will not, tell us that which most inter- 
ests us to know. Who shall write this bold, frank, 
truthful book remains to be seen. Meanwhile wom- 
an's millennium is yet a great way off ; and while it 
slowly progresses, conservatism and indifference gaze 
through their spectacles at the seething elements of 
to-day, and wonder "what ails all our women?" 
. Let me tell you what ails the working-girls, 
While yet your breakfast is progressing, and your 
toilet unmade, comes forth through Chatham Street 
and the Bowery, a long procession of them by twos 
and threes to their daily labor. Their breakfast, so 
called, has been hastily swallowed in a tenement 
house, where two of them share, in a small room, the 
same miserable bed. Of its quality you may better 
judge, when you know that each of these girls pays 
but three dollars a week for board, to the working 
man and his wife where they lodge. 

The room they occupy is close and unventilated, 
with no accommodations for personal cleanliness, and 
so near to the little Flinegans that their Celtic night- 
cries are distinctly heard. They have risen unre- 
freshed, as a matter of course, and their ill-cooked 
breakfast does not mend the matter. They emerge 
from the doorway where their passage is obstructed 



The Working-girls of New York, 221 

by " nanny goats " and ragged cTiildren rooting to- 
gether in tlie dirt, and pass out into the street. They 
shiver as the sharp wind of early morning strikes 
their temples. There is no look of youth on their 
faces ; hard lines appear there. Their brows are knit ; 
tbeir eyes are sunken ; their dress is flimsy, and fool- 
ish, and tawdry ; always a hat, and feather or soiled 
artificial flower upon it ; the hair dressed with an 

abortive attempt at style ; a soiled petticoat ; a greasy 
dress, a well-worn sacque or shawl, and a gilt breast- 
pin and earrings. 

Now follow them to the large, black-looking build- 
ing, where several hundred of them are manufactur- 
ing hoop-skirts. If you are a woman you have worn 
plenty; but you little thought what passed in the 
heads of these guis as their busy fingers glazed the 
wire, or prepared the spools for covering them, or se- 
cured the tapes which held them in their places. 
You could not stay five minutes in that room, where 
the noise of the machinery used is so deafening, that 
only by the motion of the lips could you compre- 
hend a person speaking. 

Five minutes ! Why, these young creatures bear 
it, from seven in the morning till six in the evening ; 
week after week, month after month, with only half 
an hour at midday to eat their dinner of a shoe of 
bread and butter or an apple, which they usually eat 
in the bu.ilding, some of them having come a long 
distance. As I said, the roar of machinery in that 
room is like the roar of Niagara. Observe them as 
you enter. Not one lifts her head. They might as 



222 Folly as it Flies, 

well be macliines, for any interest or curiosity tliey 
show, save always to. know wliat d'cloch it is. Pitiful I 
pitiful, you almost sob to yourself, as you look at 
these young gn-ls. Young F Alas ! it is only in 
years that they are young. 



" Only three dollars a week do they earn," said I 
to a brawny woman in a tenement house near where 
some of them boarded. " Only three dollars a week, 
and all of that goes for their board. How, then, do 
they clothe themselves?" Hell has nothing more 
horrible than the cold, sneering indifference of her 
reply : " Ask the dry-goods men." 

Perhaps you ask, why do not these girls go out to 
service? Surely it were better to live in a clean, 
nice house, in a healthy atmosphere, with respectable 
people, who might take other interest in them than 
to wring out the last particle of their available bodily 
strength. It were better surely to live in a house 
cheerful and bright, where merry voices were some- 
times heard, and clean, wholesome food was given 
them. Why do they not? First, because, unhap- 
pily, they look down upon the position of a servant, 
even from their miserable stand-point. But chiefly, 
and mainly, because when six o'clock in the evening 
comes they are their own mistresses, without hinder- 
ance or questioning, till another day of labor begins. 
They do not sit in an under-groimd kitchen, watch- 
ing the bell-wire, and longing to see what is going 
on out of doors. More's the pity, that the street is 



The Working-girls of New York, 223 

their only refuge from tlie squalor and quarrelling 
and confusion of their tenement-ho use home. More's 
the pity, that as yet there are no sufficiently decent, 
cleanlv boardinof-houses, within their means, where 
their self-respect would not inevitably wither and die. 

As it is, they stroll the streets ; and who can 
blame them ? There are gay lights, and fine shop- 
windows. It costs nothing to loisli they could have 
all those fine things. They look longingly into the 
theatres, through whose doors happier girls of their 
own age pass, radiant and smiling, with their lovers. 
Glimpses of Paradise come through those doors as 
they gaze. Back comes the old torturing question : 
Must my young life always be toil ? nothing but toil ? 
They stroll on. Music and bright lights fi*om the 
underground " Concert Saloons," where girls like 
themselves get fine dresses and good wages, and flat- 
tering words and smiles beside. Alas ! the future is 
far away ; the present only is tangible. Is it a won- ' 
der if they never go back to the dark, cheerless tene- 
ment-house, or to the " manufactory " which sets 
their poor, weary bodies aching, till they feel for- 
saken of God and man ? Talk of virtue ! Live this 
life of toil, and starvation, and friendlessness, and 
"unwomanly rags," and learn charity. Sometimes 
they rush for escape into ill-sorted marriages, with 
coarse rough fellows, and go back to the old tene- 
ment-house life again, with this difference, that their 
toil does not end at six o'clock, and that from this 
bargain there is no release but death. 

But there are other establishments than those fac- 



224 Folly as it Flies. 

tories where worldng-girls are employed. There is 

" Madame , Modiste." Snrely the girls working 

there must fare better. Madame pays six thousand 
dollars rent for the elegant mansion in that fashion- 
able street, in the basement or attic of which they 
work. Madame cuts and makes dresses, but she 
takes in none of the materials for that purpose. Not 
she. She coolly tells you that she will make you a 
very nice j^ilain black silk dress, and find everything, 
for two hundred dollars. This is modest, at a clear 
profit to herself of one hundred dollars on e\^ery such 
dress, particiilarly as she buys all her material by 
the wholesale, and pays her girls, at the highest rate 
of compensation, not more than six doUare a week. 
At this rate of small wages and big profits, you can 
well understand how she can afford not only to keep 
up this splendid establishment, but another still more 
magnificent for her own 'private residence in quite as 
fashionable a neighborhood. Another "modiste" 
who did "take in material for dresses," and — ladies 
also ! was in the habit of telling the latter that thirty- 
two yards of any material was required where six- 
teen would have answered. The remaining yards 
were then in all cases, thrown into a rag-pen ; from 
which, through contract with a man in her employ, 
she furnished herself with all the crockery, china, 
glass, tin and iron ware needed in her household. 
This same modiste employed twenty -five girls at the 
starvation price of three dollars and a half a week. 
The room in which they worked was about nine feet 
square, with only one window in it, and whoso came 



The Working-girls of New York, 225 

early enougli to secure a seat by that window saved 
her eyesight by the process. Three sewing-machines 
whirred constantly by day in this little room, which 
at night was used as a sleeping apartment. As the 
twenty -five working-girls were nshered in to their 
day's labor in the morning before that room was 
ventilated, yon would not wonder that by four in 
the afternoon dark circles appeared under their eyes, 
and they stopped occasionally to' press their hands 
upon their aching temples. ISTot often, but sometimes^ 
when the pain and exhaustion became intolerable. 

One of the twenty -five was an orphan girl named 
Lizzy, only fifteen years of age. Not even this daily 
martyrdom had quenched her abounding spirits, in 
that room where never a smile was seen on another 
face — where never a jest was ventured on, not even 
when Madame's back was turned. Always Lizzie's 
hair was nicely smoothed, and though the clean little 
creature went without her breakfast^ — for a deduction 
of wages was the penalty of being late — yet had she 
always on a clean dark calico dress, smoothed by her 
own deft little fingers. In that dismal, smileless 
room she was the only sunbeam. But one day the 
twenty-five were startled; their needles dropped 
from their fingers. Lizzie was worn out at last ! 
Her pretty face blanched, and with a low baby cry 
she threw her arms over her face and sobbed : " Oh, 
I cannot bear this life — I cannot bear it any longer. 
George must come and take me away from this." 
That night she was privately married to " Greorge," 
who was an employee on the railroad. The next day 



226 Folly as it Flies, 

wliile on the train attending to Ms duties, he broke 
his arm, and neither of the bridal pair having any 
money, George waFJ taken to the hospital. The little 
bride, with starvation before her, went back that day 
to Madame, and concealing the fact of her marriage, 
begged humbly to be taken back, apologizing for her 
conduct on the day before, on the plea that she had 
such a violent pain in her temples that she knew not 
what she said. As she was a handy little workwo- 
man, her request was granted, and she worked there 
for several weeks, during her honeymoon, at the old 
rate of pay. The day Greorge was pronounced well, 
she threw down her work, clapped her little palms 
together, and announced to the astonished twenty- 
five that they had a married woman among them, 
and that she should not return the next morning. 
Being the middle of the week, and not' the end, she 

► had to go without her wages for that week. Eo- 
mance was not part or parcel of Madame's establish- 
ment. Her law was as the Medes and Persians, 
which changed not. Little Lizzie's future was no 
more to her than her past had been — ^no more than 
that of another young thing in that work-room, who 
begged a friend, each da}^, to bring her ever so little 
ardent spirits, at the half hour allotted to their mis- 
erable dinner, lest she should fail in strength to finish 
the day's work, upon which so much depended. 
Oh ! if the ladies who wore the gay robes manu- 

^ factured in that room knew the tragedy of those 
young lives, would they not be to them like the pen- 



The Working-girls of New York, 227 

ance robes of wliicli we read, piercing, burning, tor- 
tming? 

There is still another class of girls, who tend in 
the large shops in New York. Are they not better 
remunerated and lodged ? We shall see. The addi- 
tional dollar or two added to their wages is offset by 
the necessity of their being always nicely apparelled, 
and the necessity of a better lodging-house, and con- 
sequently a higher price for board, so that unless 
they are fortunate enough to have a parent's roof 
over their heads, they will not, except in rare cases, 
where there is a special gift as an accountant, or an 
artist-touch in the fingers, to twist a ribbon or frill a 
lace, be able to save any more than the class of 
which I have been speaking. They are allowed, 
however, by their employers, to purchase any article 
in the store at first cost, which is something in their 
favor. 

But, you say, is there no bright side to this dark 
picture ? Are there no cases in which these girls 
battle bravely with penury? I have one in my 
mind now ; a girl, I should say a lady ; one of na- 
ture's ladies, with a face as refined and delicate as 
that of any lady who bends over these pages ; who 
has been through this harrowing experience of the 
working-girl, and after years of patience, virtuous toil, 
has no more at this day than when she began, i. e., 
her wages day by day. Of the wretched places she 
has called " home," I will not pain you by speaking. 
Of the rough words she has borne, that she was pow- 
erless, through her poverty, to resent. Of th^ Ipng 



228 ■ Folly as it Fliesc 

walks she has taken to obtain wages due, and failed 
to secure them at last. Of the wearv, wakeful nights, 
and heart-breaking days, borne with a heroism and 
trust in God, that was truly sublime. Of the little 
remittances from time to time forwarded to old age 
and penury, in " the old country," when she herself 
was in want of comfortable clothing ; when she her- 
self had no shelter in case of sickness, save the hos- 
pital or the almshouse. Surely, such virtue and in- 
tegrity, will have more enduring record than in these 
pages. 

Humanity has not slept on this subject, though it 
has as yet accomplished little. A boarding-house 
has been established in ISTew York for working-girls, 
excellent in its way, but intended mainly for those 
who " have seen better days," and not for the most 
needy class of which I have spoken. A noble in- 
stitution, however, called " The Working Woman's 
Protective Union," has sprung up, for the benefit of 
this latter class, their object being to find places in 
the country^ for such of these girls as will leave the 
overcrowded city, not as servants, but as operatives 
on sewing-machines, and to other similar revenaes of 
employment. Their places are secured before they 
are sent. The person who engages them pays their 
expenses on leaving, and the consent of parents, or 
guardians, or friends, is always obtained before they 
leave. A room, is to be connected with this institu- 
tion, containing several sewing-machines, where gra- 
tuitous instruction will be furnished to those who 
desire it. A lawyer of ISTew York has generously 



The Working-girls of New York, 229 

volunteered his services also, to collect the too tardy 
wages of these girls, due from flinty-hearted employ- 
ers. Many of the girls who have applied here are 
under fifteen. At first, they utterly refused to go 
into the country, which to them was only another 
name for dullness ; even preferring to wander u.p and 
down the streets of the city, half-fed and half-clothed, 
in search of employment, than to leave its dear ka- 
leidoscope delights. But after a little, when letters 
came from some who had gone, describing in glowing 
terms, their pleasant homes ; the wages that one 
could live and save money on ; their kind treatment ; 
the good, wholesome food and fresh air ; their hearty, 
jolly country fun ; and more than all, when it was 
announced that one of their number had actually 
married an ex-governor, the matter took another as- 
pect. And, though all may not marry governors, 
and some may not marry at all ; it still remains, that 
inducing them to go to the country is striking a hrave 
hlow at the root of the evil; for we all know, that hu- 
man strength and human virtue have their limits ; 
and the dreadful pressure of temptations and present 
ease, upon the discouragement, poverty and friend- 
lessness of the working-girls of New York, must be 
gratifying to the devil. ' I do not hesitate to say, 
that there is no institution of the present day, more 
worthy to be sustained, or that more imperatively 
challenges the good works and good wishes of the 
benevolent, than "The New York Working "Wo- 
man's Protective Union." May Grod speed it I 




WASHING THE BABY. 

\OXJ may think it a very simple tiling to wash a 
baby. You may imagine that one feels quite 
calm and composed, while this operation is 
being faithfully and conscientiously performed. That 
shows how little you know. When I tell you that 
there are four distinct, delicate chins, to be dodging- 
ly manipulated, between frantic little crying spells, 
and as many little rolls of fat on the back of the neck, 
that have to be searched out and bathed, with all the 
endearing baby -talk you can command, the while, as a 
blind to your merciless intentions ; when I tell you 
that of all things, baby won't have her ears or nose med- 
dled with, and that she resents any infringement on her 
toes with shrill outbreaks, and that it takes two peo- 
ple to open her chubby little fists, when water seeks 
to penetrate her palms. When I tell you the masterly 
strategy that has to be used to get one stiff, little, re- 
bellious arm out of a cambric sleeve, and the frantic 
kickings which accompany any attempts to tie on her 
little red worsted-shoe; when I tell you that she objects 
altogether to be turned over on her stomach, in order 
to tie the strings of her frock, and that she is just as 
mad when you lay her on her back ; when I inform 
you that she can stiffen herself out when she likes, so 
that you can't possibly make her sit down, and at an- 



Washing the Baby. 231 

other time will curl hei^elf up in a circle, so that you 
can't possibly straighten her out ; and when you enu- 
merate the garments that have to be got off, and got 
on, before this process is finally concluded, and that 
it is to.be done before a baking fire, without regard 
to the state of the thermometer, or the agonized dew 
on your brow ; when I inform you that every now 
and then you must stop in the process, to see that 
she is not choking, or strangling, or that you have 
not dislocated any of her fanny little legs, or arms, 
or injured her bobbing little head, you can form 
some idea of the relief when the last string is tied, 
and baby emerges from this, her daily misery, into 
a state of rosy, diamond-eyed, scarlet-lipped, content ; 
looking sweet and fi:esh as a rosebud, and drowsing 
off in your arms with quivering white eyelids and 
pretty unknown murmurings of the little half-smiling 
lips, while the perfect little waxen hands lie idly by 
her side. Ah me ! how shall one keep from spoiling 
a baby? Ah! how can one ever give brimming 
enough love-measure — to this — the motherless. 




CHILBREN HAVE THEIR BIGHTS. 



I HERE is not a day of my life in wliicTi I am 
not vexed at the injustice done to cMldren. 
A Sunday or two since, I went to clinrcli. 
In the pew directly in front of me sat a fine little 
lad, abont twelve years old, nnobtrnsively taking 
notes of the sermon. By my side sat a man — gen- 
tleman, I suppose, he called himself — ^his coat, pants, 
boots, and linen were all right as far as I am any 
judge, and dress seems to be the test now-a-days — ■ 
who occupied himself in leaning over the front of 
the pew, and reading what the boy was writing — 
evidently much to the discomfiture of the latter. 
ISTow I would like to ask, why that child's pencilled 
notes should not have been as safe from curious eyes 
as if he had been an adult ? and what right that 
grown-up man had, to bother and annoy him, by 
impertinently peeping over his shoulder ? and of 
what use is it to preach good manners to children, 
while nobody thinks it worth while to practice the 
same toward them ? The other day I was sitting in 
a car, and a nice, well-behaved boy of ten years took 
his seat and paid his fare. Directly after, in came 
the conductor, and without a word of comment, 
coolly took him by the shoulder and placed him on 



Children have their Rights, 233 

his feet, and tTien motioned a lady to liis yacant 
seat ? Whj not ask tlie cliild, at least ? I have 
often been struck with the ready civility of boys in 
this respect, in pnblic conveyances — but that is no 
reason why they should be imposed upon ; the lady 
who took the seat might possibly have thanked a 
gentleman for yielding it to her, but she evidently 
did not think that good manners required she should 
thank the boy. Again — what right has a gentle- 
man to take a blushing little girl of twelve or thir- 
teen and seat her on his knee, when he happens to 
want her seat. I have seen timid, bashful girls, 
suffering crucifixion at the smiles called" forth by 
this free and easy act ; and sometimes actually turn- 
ing away their faces to conceal tears of mortification ; 
for there are little female children unspoiled even 
by the present bold system of childhood annihila- 
tion — little violets who seek the shade, and do not 
care to be handled and pulled about by every passer- 
by. Again — why will parents, or those who have 
the charge of children, make hypocrites of them 
by saying. Go kiss such and such a person ? A 
kiss is a holy thing, or should be, and not to be 
lightly bestowed. At any rate, it never should be 
compulsorily given. Children have their likes and 
dislikes, and often much more rationally grounded 
than those of grown people, though they may not 
be able to syllable them. I never shall forget a 
snuffy old lady whom I used to be obliged, when 
a child, to kiss. I am not at all sure that my 
unconcLuerable aversion to every form of tobacco 



234 Folly as it Flies. 

does not date from these repulsive and compnlsorj 
kisses. "With what a lingering horror I approached 
her, and with' what a shiver of disgust I retreated to 
scrub mj lips with mj pinafore, and shake my locks, 
lest peradventure a particle of snuff had lodged there. 
How I wondered what she would do in Heaven with- 
out that snuff-box, for she was a " church member," 
and mj notions of Heaven could by no stretch of lib- 
erality admit such a nuisance ; and how I inwardly 
vowed that if I ever grew to be a woman, and if I 
ever was married, and if I ever had a little girl, all 
of which were dead certainties in my childish future, 
I would never make her kiss a person unless she 
chose to do it, never — never — ^which article of mj 
pinafore creed I do here publicly indorse with my 
matronly hand. 



Agaln", what more abominable tyranny than to 
force a child to eat turnip, or cabbage, or fat meat 
or anything else for which it has an unconquera- 
ble and unexplainable disgust ? I have seen children 
actually shudder and turn pale at being obliged to 
swallow such things. Pray, why should not their 
wishes in this respect be regarded as much as those 
of their seniors ? Not that a child should eat every- 
thing which it craves indiscriminately, but it should 
never, in my opinion, be forced to swallow what is 
unpalatable, except in the case of medicine, about 
which parents tell such fibs — that it " tastes good," 
and all that — when they should say honestly, "It is 



' Children have their Rights, 285 

very bad indeed, but you know you must take it, and 
tlie sooner it is over the better ; now be brave and 
swallow it." I do protest too against forcing big boys 
to wear long curls down their backs after they are well 
into jackets, for the gratification of mamma's pride, 
who " can't bear to cut them off," not even though her 
boy skulks out of sight of every " fellow "he meets for 
fear of being called a " girl-boy ;" or the practice mak- 
ing a boy of that age wear an apron, which the " fel- 
lows " are quite as apt to twit him about, or anything 
else which makes him look odd or ridiculous. There 
is no computing the suffering of children in these 
respects. I dare say many who read this will say, 
"But they should be taught not to mind such 
things," etc. ; that's all very well to say, but suppose 
you try it yourself; — suppose you were compelled 
to walk into church on Sunday with a collar that 
covered your cheeks, and your great-grand-father's 
coat and vest on ; to hear the suppressed titters, and 
be an object of remark every time you stirred ; and 
you a man who hated notoriety, and felt like knock- 
ing everybody down who stared at you? How 
would that suit? Nothing like bringing a case 
home to yourself Just sit down and recall your 
own childhood, and remember the big lumps in your 
little throat that seemed like to choke you, and the 
big tears of shame that came rolling down on your 
jacket, from some such cause, and don't go through 
the world striding with your grown-up boots on 
little children. They are not all angels, I know ; 
some of them are malicious, and ugly, and selfish and 



236 Folly as it Flies. 

disagreeable ; and whose fault is it ? — answer me 
that ? Not one time in ten, tlie cliild's. Yon may 
be sure of it. God made it right, but there were 
bunglers who undertook a charge from which an 
angel might shrink. 



And now I want to put in a plea for the children 
about storj-reading. At a certain age, children of 
both sexes delight in stories. It is as natur^, as 
it is for them to skip, run and jump, instead of 
walking at the staid pace of their grandparents. 
Now some parents, very well meaning ones too, 
think thej do a wise thing when they deny this most 
innocent craving, any legitimate outlet. They wish 
to cultivate, they say, " a taste for solid reading. 
They might as well begin to feed a new-born baby 
on meat, lest nursing should vitiate its desire for it. 
The taste for meat will come when the child has teeth 
to chew it; so will the taste for " solid reading" as 
the mind matures — i. e., if it is not made to hate it, 
by having it forced violently upon its attention 
during the story-loving period. That " there is a . 
time for all things," is truer of nothing more, than of 
this. Better far that parents should admit it, and 
wisely indulge it, than, by a too severe repression, 
give occasion for stealthy promiscuous reading. 



How delicious in these days of hot-house-child- 
hood it is to find a little one who can relish puss in 



Childre7i have their Rights, 237 

the corner. To find one wlio does not at six years 
of age turn up its little nose at ever jtMng but 
"round dances," and a supper of "pate de foie gi-as " 
and champagne. What a sorrowful sight are those 
bias 3 languid little things who are incapable of a 
new sensation before they are out of short clothes 
— to whom already there is no childhood left — ^who 
have tn.rned their backs on that path of flowers to 
which they can never return, through long years of 
satiety and weariness. What shall compensate 
them for the dear, fresh, innocent, simple delights, 
which to children, naturally and simply brought up, 
are so attractive ? We are all making grave mis- 
takes about children. Those who unfortunately live 
always in a great city, are mostly the sufferers. 
Life there is such a maelstrom, swallowing up every 
hour so much that is lovely and beautiful. Fathers, 
and mothers, delegating so much of the care and 
oversight of them to those, whose paid service yields 
neither sympathy nor appreciation to the victims 
under their charge. Toy shops are ransacked, and 
small fortunes expended, to supply this lamentable 
deficiency ; till the weary little one at six or seven 
has exhausted the stock, and sighs for " something 
new;" like a flirt who has put her slipper on a 
thousand hearts, or a man of the world, reduced by 
too much money and leisure, and too little brains, to 
caress the head of his cane, long, weary hours, 
staring out of his club window. I think this is very 
pitiful, both for the child and the man. Indeed it is 
children so brought up, who make such men, and 



238 Folly as it Flies, 

women of a corresponding type. Life seems fast 
losing its simplicity merely for want of the brave 
courage to defy fashion's encroachments. " "What 
will they think ?" is at the bottom of it. "Who 
among us has pluck enough to snap our fingers at 
that question, and face the formidable — ^'- Bid you 
everV which treads "upon the heels of independent 
thought and action, even in a right and obviously 
sensible direction. Kor is it a question of sex. I 
find as much of this spirit, or the want of it, in one 
sex as in the other, and the children are the victims. 

Xow children naturally hate fine clothes and the 
restrictions upon freedom and enjoyment that they 
impose. Children naturally prefer live animals, to 
the pink dogs, and blue sheep, and green cows, pre- 
sented in a wooden "Noah's Ark." Children natur- 
ally prefer a garden and a shovel, to a stereotyped 
lounge, with a silent cross nurse, over city pave- 
ments. Children should be put to bed by loving 
hands, and their eyes closed with a kiss, as our cher- 
ished dead pass into the la] id of silence. Children 
should leap into loving arms when they again open 
their eyes with the baptism of the fresh morning 
light. 

Children should be kept in ignorance of nearly all 
that is now as familiar to their ears as their own 
names. But, alas ! we all know how different things 
really are, and the result — ^is the children of to-day — - 
children, with rare and blessed exceptions, only in 
name. Oh ! the perpetual " nurse ;" the perpetual 
nursery ! The sad sight of the spirit-weary little 



Children have their Rio-hts, 239 



,*>' 



cHld checked in its most innocent and healtlij im- 
pulses ; called " nanghty," for being buoyant and 
merry, till sullenness and defiant miscliief are the 
result. Oh, mother in the parlor, take off that silk 
dress which little feet may not climb upon, and take 
a seat in your own nursery, and give that little one 
the love, without which its whole sweet nature 
shall be turned into bitterness. Oh, father, at the 
sound of whose footstep that child must always 
" hush up " or beat a hasty retreat to parts unknown 
—how much, how very much you lose, when never 
that little face grows brighter that " papa has come 
home ;" when, with your hands thrnst into your 
coat-pocket, you lounge along toward your door, 
and never invite with your love that dear blessed 
little nose, to flatten itself against the window-pane, 
watching for " my papa." 

My papa ! Good heavens ! what is it to be Sena- 
tor, Member of Congress, President, King^ to that ? 
" My papa !" Man I what can you be thinking of, 
that the sweet, trustful, blessed ownership in those 
two little words, fails to move every drop of your 
blood ? And what can the wide earth, with all its 
cheating promises, give you, in compensation for 
that which your short-sighted folly throws away? 
Oh, sometimes^ stop and think of that. 




MOURNING. 

is very strange how differently people are 
affected by a great bereavement. One desires 
^^S nothing so much as to flee as far as possible 
from any scene, or association, which shall recall the 
lost. Every relic he would banish forever from his 
presence. The spot where his dead was laid he would 
never revisit, and, if possible, never remember. 
When the anniversary of death occurs, no persou 
should allude to it in his presence ; he would himself 
prefer to glide obliviously over it. Another finds com- 
fort and solace in the very opposite course. He de- 
sires nothing so much as that the little favorite home- 
surroundings of the dead should remain unchanged, 
as if the owner were still living. He wou.ld sit down 
among them, and recall by these silent mementoes 
every cherished look and tone ; jealously recording 
every detail and circumstance, lest memory should 
prove unfaithful to her trust. Everything worn by 
the form now lifeless, would he have often before his 
eyes, touching their folds with caressing fingers. At 
the table and by the hearth, rising up and sitting down, 
going out and coming in, would he evoke the dear 
presence. He would pass through the streets where 
so often his dead have passed with him. The place 



Mournings, 241 



"cb 



of tliat friend's sepulture, is to him tlie place of all 
places wliere he would oftenest go. He plants there 
his favorite flowers, and woos for them the balmiest 
air and warmest sunshine. He reads over the name 
and date of birth and burial, each time as if they 
were not already indelibly engraven on his mem- 
ory ; and still, though months and years may have 
passed in this way, whenever he catches himself 
saying, " It was about the time when our John, " 
or "our Mary, died," he will still shiver, as when the 
first time he had occasion to couple death with that 
household name. 

Again: One person on the death of a friend, is 
punctiliously solicitous that no etiquette of mourn- 
ing habiliments should be disregarded, to the re- 
motest fraction of an inch as to quantity ; and that 
the quality and fashioning of the same should be ac- 
cording to the strictest rules laid down by custom on 
such occasions ; considering all variation from it, al- 
though demanded by health or comfort, as a disre- 
spect to the dead. 

Another is scarcely conscious that he wears these 

outward tokens ; or, if so, knows little and cares less" 
whether all the minutiae of depth, width and black- 
ness is punctiliously followed. Attention to these 
details seems to him a mockery, from which he turns 
impatiently away. The whole world seems to him 
already draped in sable ; what matters, then, this in- 
trusive pettiness ? And that any one should measure 
the depth of his loss by the width of a hem or a 
veil, or the fashion of a hat, or the material of a gar- 
11 



242 Folly as it Flies, 

ment, seems to him too monstrous an absurdity for 
credence. And wlien lie hears the common expres- 
sion that such a person is " in lialf mourningj'' it is 
so utterly repulsive to him, that he almost feels that 
he should honor the dead more by a total breach of 
the custom, than by its observance. 

In truth, it may be a question whether a genuine 
grief can exist in the artificial atmosphere where 
these slavish mourning etiquettes are cultivated. 
The devil himself probably knew this ; and contrived 
this ingenious way to turn the mass of mankind 
aside from sober reflection at a time when the march 
of life stands still. 

"When the bolt falls, which sooner or later strikes 
every man's house, how philosophically lookers-on 
reason about it. How practically unconscious are 
they, while gazing at the blood-besprinkled door-post 
of a neighbor, that the advancing finger of Destiny 
is already pointed at their own, as they plan for hab- 
py years to come the future of husband, wife, child, 
brother and sister, as if for them there was immunity 
fi'om dissolution and disruption. No acceleration of 
pulse^ no heart-quiver, when the funeral train passes 
by, or the sad face looks out from its frame of sable ; 
for no sweet bright face is missing from their little 
band.. ISTo pained ear listens at their fireside for the 
light footfall that will never come. ISTo street is 
avoided in 4heir daily walks, which agonizingly sug- 
gests a floating form once watched and waited for 
there. ISTor may the passing stranger, whose step and 
voice stir the troubled fountain of your tears, know 



Mourning, 243 

bj wliat personal magnetism lie lias evoked jour dead, 
and chained you to linger, and look, and feed your 
excited fancy, till tlie impulse to throw yourself on 
that strange heart and weep, almost sweeps away 
cold propriety. 

Ah! the difference^ ivhether the hearse stands hefore 
one^s own door^ or one!s neighbor's. And yet, how 
else could we all live on, playing at jack-straws, as we 
do, day after day, while a momentous future little by 
little unfolds itself? How else would one have cour- 
age to go on planting what another hand than his 
shall surely reap ; a-nd what pleasure would there be 
beneath the sun, if one sat crouching, and listening 
for the step of the executioner, or clasping wild arms 
of protection round the dear ones. Merciful indeed 
is it, that we can travel on in to-day's sunshine, trust- 
ing to our Guide to shelter us, when the storm shall 
gather and break over our heads. 



TO YOUNG GIBLS. 



J ^ WONDER how many girls tell their mothers 
<\Y^i everything? Not those "young ladies" 

^feftf who, going to and ftom school, smile, bow, 
and exchange notes and cartes de visite with young 
men, who are perfect strangers to them. I grant this 
may all be done thoughtlessly and innocently, for 
" fun," and without any wrong intention ; but surely 
— surely — such young girls should be told that not 
in this spirit will it be received ; and that to hold 
themselves in so cheap estimation, is certainly to in- 
vite insult, how disguised soever it may be in the 
form of compliment and flattery. Imagine a knot 
of young men making fun of, you and your "pic- 
ture ;" speaking of you in a way that, would make 
your cheeks burn with shame, could you hear it. 
All this, most credulous and romantic young ladies, 
they will do, although they gaze at your fresh young 
face admiringly, and send or give you charming 
verses and bouquets. No matter what " other girls 
do;" don't you do it No matter how "ridiculous" 
it is that you have " never had an offer, although 
you were fifteen last spring ;" there is time enough^ 



To Young Girls, 245 

and to spare, yet. GrMs wiip, falling in love, insist 
on getting married when tliej are babies, will find 
that studyimg after marriage is tedious work. A 
premature, faded, vacant old age ! — you surely can- 
not desire that When is your mind to be informed, 
or to grow, if you place it in a hot-house, that only 
the flower of Love be forced into early bloom, to the 
dwarfing of every other faculty ? And even should 
such a foolish school flirtation end in early marriage, 
how long, think you, before your husband would 
weary of a wife who only knew enough to talk about 
dress or dancing ? How painful for you to be silent, 
through ignorance, should you chance to have intel- 
ligent guests at your house. How painful, when 
your only charm, youth and its prettiness, has faded, 
to find your husband gradually losing sight of you, 
as his mind expanded, and yours grew still narrower, 
with the inevitable cares, that only the hrain of a 
sensible woman can keep from overwhelming her. 
How painfal, as time passes on, and your children 
grow up about you., to hear them talk intelligently 
on subjects of which you scarcely know the names. 

And tliJs, remember, is taking the most favorable 
view of the result of school-girl flirtations. They 
Tfiay end far more disastrously, as many a foolish, 
wretched young girl could tell you. 

But let us not talk of this. Your yearning for 
some one to love you, and you only, is natural and 
right; it is a great need of every woman's heart. 
But there is a time for everything ; and it is wisdom 



246 Folly as it Flies, 

before seeking this to wait. Your choice at fifteen 
would be very different from your cTioice at twenty. 
A man who would quite suit you then, would only 
disgust and weary you when you grew older. Till 
school-days are over, therefore,- you can well afford 
to let love rest. Don't let the bloom and freshness 
of your heart be brushed off in silly flirtations. 
Study all you can and keep your health. Kender 
yourself truly intelligent. And, above all, tell your 
mother everything. " Fun " in your dictionary 
would sometimes be indiscretion in hers. It will do 
you no harm to look and see. Never be ashamed 
to tell her. who should be your best friend and con- 
fidant, all you think and feel. She was once a girl 
herself; she had her dreams, and can understand it. 
Not having been always as wise as she is now, she 
can spare you many a pang of humiliation and regret 
if you will profit by her advice. 

It is very sad that so many young girls will tell 
every person before "mother," that which is most 
important she should know. It is very sad that in- 
different persons should know more about her own 
fair young daughter than she herself. Don't you 
think so ? You find it quite easy to tell your mother 
that you want a new dress, or hat, or shawl ; but you 
would be quite ashamed to say — Mother, I wish I 
had a lover. Why not? It is nothing at all to 
be ashamed of It is a perfectly natural wish ; and 
your mother was given you to tell you just that, and 
a great many other things, which would convince 



To * Young Girls, 247 

you, if you would listen to her, tliat it was best for 
you not to hurry into life's cares and responsibilities 
till your soul and body were fitted to carry you pa- 
tiently, and hopefully through them. 



Another thing I want to speak to you about: 
It is very common, at the present day, for young 
ladies to accept presents from gentlemen not related to 
them, or likely to become so — ^in fact, mere acquaint- 
ances. It was not so in my day ; and with no parti- 
ality for old customs, merely because they are old 
customs, / confess an admiration for that feminine 
delicacy which shrinks from accepting favors from 
chance acquaintances of the day or hour. That all 
young men have not the true feelings of gentlemen, 
our young ladies need not be told ; nor, that those 
most lavish with their presents, are often as little able 
to afford it, as they are able to refrain from boasting 
that these presents have been accepted when among their 
young male companions. The cheek of many an in- 
nocent but unguarded young girl, would crimson with 
mortification could she hear the remarks often made 
on this subject among young men. DonH do it^ girls; 
don't accept any presents from a gentleman unless he 
is an accepted suitor, a relative, or some oldj well- 
known friend of the family, who has proved his 
claim to be good for such a proof of your faith in 
him. This may 'be " old-fashioned " advice, and yet 
— ^you may live to thank me for it 



248 Folly as it Flies, 

There is one point, my dears, upon whicli T pine 
for information. Many an anxious hour have I pon- 
dered on it. I never studied medicine, else I might 
not now be in the dark. I find no precedent for it in 
young people of past ages. It was not so with me, or 
any of my young female companions, most of whom, 
by the way, were boys. I cannot conjecture what 
sort of parents, the curiously-constituted young per- 
son to whom I refer, must have had What time she 
cut her first tooth, or whether she cut it at all. ISTot 
to harass you with farther conjecture, I will come at 
once to the point. I allude to " the fair young creature 
of some seventeen summers,^^ of whom we so often read. 
In mercy tell me, — does she — ^like the bear — suck 
her claws in some dark retreat in winter ; or, having 
" no winter in her year," is her lamp of life sud- 
denly and mercilessly blown out, not to be rekin- 
dled till it comes time for another of her " summers.''^ 
I beg the philanthropist — I entreat the humanitarian, 
to make some inquiry into the circumstances of this 
abridged young creature, so long defrauded by un- 
principled story and novel writers, of her inalienable 
woman's rights to winter in our midst. 



Do you ever go home pondering over chance con- 
versation heard in the street? "Don't you wish 
something would happen ?" I heard a young girl say, 
yawning to her companion, as I ]3assed her. My 
dear, thought I, rather bless Providence when noth- 



To Young Girls, ' 249 

ing happens. However, she had many years yet to 
see, before she could take that adult view of things ; 
the bread and butter period was beginning to get 
insipid, that was all; that passed, she fancied all 
would be blue sky and roses beyond. What " hap- 
pens " to one's neighbor is too apt to be no concern 
of ours, 'tis true ; but one must walk with closed 
eyes through the streets of a great city not to see 
constant "ha;^enings." Yonder poor woman, fol- 
lowed by a shouting crew of boys, and struggling in 
the grasp of a policeman, her lips white with fear, 
what can have happened to lier f And so surely as 
that knot of crape flutters from yonder door, there 
has "happened" in, over that tlu^eshold, a strange, 
unbidden guest, who would take no denial And 
there is a' true woman, her eyes .bent earthward with 
unmerited shame, guiding home the staggering- 
steps of him on whom she should have leaned. And 
farther on, a house-painter sits swinging aloft, brush 
in hand, humming daily at his work ; a treacherous 
step, and he lies a mangled heap upon the pavement. 
Ah, who has the courage to tell the busy little wife 
at home what has " happened " to him ? And yonder 
is a. tearful mother kissing her soldier lad ; you and 
she both know what has and may " happen " there, 
and as you look, your heart joins hers in that sor- 
rowfal blessing. And at yonder pier they are busy 
over a "body." That is all they know of him 
whose blue lips keep their own secret well. And 
peering through the bars of that locked cart, jolting 



250 Folly as it Flies, 

over tlie stones, are eyes tliat looked innocently into 
tlie faces of fathers mothers, brothers and sisters, 
before this "happened." And so, thinking of all 
these things as I listened to that young girl, I said, 
Blessed is that day, when nothing " happens." 



Often I get letters from young girls who are 
perfect strangers to me. The other^iay, one wrote 
me saying, " Fanny, suppose you give us a chapter 
on working all one's life, just for the sake of work- 
ing; working all the time, just to keep soul and 
body together ; without one friend ; one sympathiz- 
ing word; — honest hard work, I mean, and no 
thanks." This was my reply to her: perhaps some 
of you may feel like asking the same question, so 
you can consider it written also to you. 

Well, my dear child, there are thousands who are 
compelled to do this, as there are thousands more 
who will do it, in time to come. This view of the 
case may not make you more contented with your 
lot, but I think our sufferings are sometimes intensi- 
fied by imagining that nobody in the world ever had 
to endure the peculiar hardships which af&ict^ our 
individual selves. You must remember that to this 
initiatory school of self-conquest the world owes 
many of its best and most gifted children. To learn 
to wait, to be willing to endure, is indeed the hardest 
of all earthly lessons. To wait athirst for sympathy ; 
to wait for the tardy lifting of the iron hand pf toil, 



To Voting Girls, 251 

whicli seems crusHng out everytliing but tTie grind- 
ing care for. daily bread is hard. I say seems crusk- 
ing, for often it is only seeming. The seed that 
seems buried is only for a time hidden ; some day 
when we least expect it, it gives to our gladdened 
sight verdure, blossom and fruitage. Persistent 
discontent is the rust of the soul. They have half 
won the battle who can work while they wait. Hav- 
ing measured' one's capacities ; having satisfied one- 
self that at present nothing belter can be achieved ; 
it is wise to do cheerfully with our might what our 
hands find to do, though with listening ear for the 
day of future deliverance. And it will surely come 
to such, though not, perhaps, just in the manner, or 
at the moment, their shortsightedness had marked . 
out. A bird that ceaselessly beats its delicate wings 
against the bars of its cage must soon lie helpless. 
Better to nibble and sing, keeping a bright ej^e for a 
chance opening of the door out into the green fields 
and blue sky beyond. But this achieved, remember 
that the sky will not always be blue, nor the wind 
gentle ; then, when the storm comes, comes again a 
struggle to get above the clouds, into another 
atmosphere. 

Like the child who essays to walk — ^many a fall, 
many a bump, many a disappointment in grasping 
far-oif objects that seemed near, or finding their 
shining but dimness when gained, must be ours ; till, 
like it, we come, gladly, at last, weary with effort, to 
rest peacefully on the bosom of Love. So — when to 



252 ^ Folly as it Flies, 

Him wIlo appointeth. our lot, we can say trustingly) 
" Do what seemeth good in Thy sight ;" — so, when 
the mad beating of our wings against the bars of a 
present necessity shall cease, and the lesson of self- 
conquest shall be achieved, then — is freedom and 
victory in sight ! 




A LITTLE TALK WITH " THE OTHER SEX." 



iOM JONES would like to be married 
Tom does not quite relisli the idea of a 
^f^^ connubial idiot ; and jet, for many reasons 
unnecessary to state, he does not desire a wife who 
knows much. He would like one who will be 
always on tiptoe to await his coming, and yet be 
perfectly satisfied, and good-humored, if after all 'her 
preparations, culinary and otherwise, he may con- 
clude at all times, or at anytime, to prefer other 
society to hers. He also desires his wife, to be pos- 
sessed of principle enough for both, because in his 
own case, principle would interfere with many of his 
little arrangements. He would like her always to 
be very nicely dressed, although his own boots and 
coats are innocent of a brush from year's end to 
year's end. He wishes her to speak low, and not 
speak much ; because he has a great deal to say 
himself, and when he has roared it out, like the 
liberal, -great Dr. Johnson, " he wishes the subject 
ended !" Tom wishes his wife possessed of military 
instincts, so that she may discipline her household ; 
after that is done, he wishes to turn the key on 
these military instincts, lest they might be of use in 
some emergency necessary to her personal happiness. 



254 Folly as it Flies, 

Tom wants a wife who loves more than she reasons, 
because he intends himself to pursue quite a con- 
trary policy. Tom would like a wife who adjusts 
everything with a smile ; although he may use his 
boots for other purposes than that of locomotion. 
She must have a pretty face, an easy temper, and an 
intellect the size of which would allow him to con- 
sider his own colossal. Any young lady very weak 
in the head, and strong in the nerves, and quite 
destitute of any disgusting little selfishnesses, may 
consider herself eligible, provided she has money ; 
none others need aDply. 



Since the world began, there probably never was 
a marriage of which somebody did not " disapprove." 
That somebody, and everybody, including relatives, 
have a perfect right to an opinion on such a subject, 
nobody doubts. But how far you prove your 
greater love for " Tom," by whispering round 
" confidentially " your foreordained determination 
not to believe that "that woman" can ever make 
him happy, is a question. Poor fellow ! and slie of 
all people in the world ; the very last woman you 
would have selected ; which of course is sure to get 
to Tom's wife's ears, and produce a fine foundation 
for belief in the reality of your regard for him, and 
your good nature generally. 

JSTow as there were seldom, or never, two parties 
bound together in any relation of life, whether as 
business partners, pastor and people, teacher and 



A Little Talk with " the Other Sex.'' 255 

pupil, master and subordi^iate, mistress and maid, 
wlio always moved along with perfect unanimitj, it 
is hardly to be expected that the marriage of " Tom " 
and his wife will effect a total revolution for the bet- 
ter in human nature, any more than did your own 
marriage. Perhaps even Tom and his wife, though 
loving each ether very much, may have a difference 
of opinion on some subject ; but what is that to you? 
They don't need your guardianship or supervision in 
the matter. It is very curious that those persons 
who clamor most loudly when " Tom " marries with- 
out their consent and approbation, are, ten to one, 
those who have themselves married clandestinely, or 
otherwise offended against the rigid rule which they 
would apply in his particular case. 

Broad philanthropists ! Tom can surely be happy 
in no way but theirs. They love him so much better 
than "that woman" possibly can. Poor "Tom!" 
He looked so poorly last time they saw him. Her 
fault, of course. They knew it would be just so. 
Didn't they say so from the first ? Poor Tom ! such 
a sacrifice ! It is unaccountable how he can like her. 
For the matter of that, they never will believe he 
does, (and they might add, he shan't if we can help 
it.) And so, when they see him, they inquire with 
a churchyard air, "Is he well?" "Is anything the 
matter?' "Ah, you needn't tell us; we know how 
it is ; poor Tom — we know you try to bear up under 
it. Come and see us. We will love you. You 
never will find us changed." 

Ko. That's the worst of it ! Ko hope of their 



256 Folly as it Flies, 

cTiaiiging. Bless their souls! How lucky *' Tom" 
lias somebody to tell liim wliat a " sacrifice lie has 
made," or he never would find it out ! Well, it is 
astonishing that such people don't see that this is 
the last way to convince any person with common 
sense, that they are better qualified to be installed 
guardians of "Tom's" happiness than " tliat womany 



^It is very strange that men, as a general thing 
should be proud of that, of which they should be 
ashamed, and ashamed of that, which ennobles them. 
JSTow, to my eye, a man never looks so grand, as 
when he bends his ear patiently and lovingly, to the 
lisping of a little child. I admire that man whom I 
see with a baby in his arms. I delight, on Sunday, 
when the nurses are set free, to see the fathers lead- 
ing out their little ones in their best attire, and setting 
them right end up, about fifty times a minute. It is 
as good a means of grace as I am acquainted with. 
Now that a man should feel ashamed to be seen do- 
ing this, or think it necessary to apologize, even joc- 
ularly, when he meets a male friend, is to me one of 
the unaccountable things. It seems to me every 
way such a lovely, and good, and proper action in a 
father, that I can't help thinking that he who would 
feel otherwise, is of so coarse and ignoble a nature, 
as to be quite unworthy of respect. How many 
times I have turned to look at the clumsy smoothing 



A Little Talk with ''the Other Sex!' 257 

of a child's dress, or settling of its liat, or bonnet, bj 
the unpractised fingers of a proud father. And the 
clumsier he was about it. the better I have loved him 
for the pains he took. It is very beautiful to me, 
this self-abnegation, which creeps so gradually over 
a young father. He is himself so unconscious that 
he, who had for many years thought first and only of 
his own selfish ease and wants, is forgetting himself 
entirely whenever that httle creature, with his eyes 
and its mother's lips, reaches out coaxing hands to go 
here or there, or to look at this or that pretty object. 
Ah, what but this heavenly love, could bridge over 
the anxious days and nights, of care and sickness, that 
these twain of one flesh are called to bear ? My 
boy ! My girl ! There it is ! Mine / Something 
to live for — something to work for — something to 
come hom£ to ; and that last is the summing up of 
the whole matter. " JSTow let us have a good love," 
said a little three-year older, as she clasped her 
chubby arms about her father's neck when he came 
in at night '^ITowlet us have a good love." Do 
you suppose that man walked with slow and laggard 
steps from his store toward that bright face that had 
been peeping for an hour from the nursery window 
to watch his coming? Do you suppose when he got 
on all fours to "play elephant" with the child, that 
it even crossed his mind that he had worked very 
hard all that day, or that he was not at that minute 
" looking dignified ?" Did he wish he had a " club *' 
where he could get away from home evenings, or 



Folly as it Flies, 258 

was that " good love " of tlie little creature on Ms back, 
with, tlie laugliing eyes and tlie pearly teeth, and the 
warm clasp abont his neck, which she was squeezing 
to suffocation, sweeter and better than anything that 
this world could give ? 

Something to come home to I That is what saves a 
man. Somebody there to grieve if he is not true to 
himself Somebody there to be sorry if he is 
troubled or sick. Somebody there, with fingers like 
sunbeams, gliding and brightening 'whatever they 
touch ; and all for him. I look at. the business men 
of ISTew York, at nightfall, coming swarming "up 
town " from their stores and counting-rooms ; and 
when I see them, as I often do, stop and buy one of 
those tiny bouquets as they go, I smile to myself; for 
although it is a little attention toward a wife, I know 
how haj)py that rose with its two geranium leaves, 
and its sprig of mignonette will make her. He 
thought of her coming home ! Foolish, do you call 
it ? Such folly makes all the difference between step- 
ping off, scarcely conscious of the cares a woman car- 
ries, or staggering wearily along till she faints disheart- 
ened under their burthen. Something to go home to I 
That man felt it, and by ever so slight a token wished 
to recognize it. God bless him, I say, and all like 
him, who do not take home-comforts as stereotyped 
matters of course, and God bless the family estate ; I 
can't see that anything better has been devised by 
the wiseacres who have experimented on the Al- 
mighty's plans. " There comes my father !" ex- 



A Little Talk with " the Other Sex^ 259 

claims Johnny, bounding from out a group of "fel- 
lows " witli whom he was playing ball ; and sliding 
his little soiled fist in his, thej go up the steps and 
into the house together ; and again God bless them ! 
I say there's one man who is all right at least. That 
boy has got him, safer than Fort Lafeyette. 



If there is an experiment which is worse than any 
other for a young married couple to make, we believe 
it to be that of trying to make a home in a hotel. 
What possible chance has a young wife there to ac- 
quire domestic habits? To do anything, in short, 
but dress half a dozen times a day, and sit in the 
public parlor, or her own, to gossip with idle women 
or bandy compliments with idle men. And how — I 
ask any thinking^ person — can a young married wo- 
man be fitted for quiet home-cares and duties, after a 
year or two of such idleness and vacuity ; Let no 
young husband expect any favorable result from 
such an experiment. Better a house with only one 
room, in a quiet place by yourselves — than such a 
hollow, shallow life as this. Many a husband has 
dated from it the loss of all quiet, home happiness ; 
lucky for him, if no more. Go to housekeeping ; un- 
ambitiously if need be — as the old folks did before 
you. But have a place sacred to yourselves — ^have 
a place which your children in after years will love 
to think of as home. Do it for their sakes if not for 
your own. No sight is sadder than that of a weary 



260 Folly as it Flies, 

little one — ^wandering up and down the entries and 
lialls of a large liotel, peeping into parlors, offices 
and bar-rooms — ^listening to what childhood should 
never hear, and with no alternative but the small, 
drearj nursery, whose only-window prospect, nine 
times in ten, is a stack of brick chimneys or a back- 
shed full of flapping clothes hung out to dry. A 
father should hesitate long before he dooms a young 
child to such a " home " as this. 



As to women, men are apt to think, and fall into 
innumerable blunders by so thinking, that because 
they know one woman they know all; when, in 
fact, each woman is as much of a study as if he had 
never seen one of the sex. Bulwer doubts whether 
man ever thoroughly understood woman. Truly, 
how should he ? when woman does not understand 
herself; nor can tell why she lives on patiently, 
hopefully, year after year, with a brute, whose favor- 
ite pastime consists in attempts to break her neck 
every time things go wrong with him, indoors or 
out. That the better educated husband, murders with 
sharp words instead of sharp blows, makes it none 
the less murder. The only difference is in the dura- 
tion of the misery, one being as deadly as the other. 
Who cares to understand how a woman with bruised 
heart and flesh can throw over both the charitable 
mantle that, "he wasn't himself;" and beg off the 
offender from nierited punishment, public or private. 



A Little Talk with " the Other Sex.'' 261 

Let us rather seek to understand liow man, wlio 
should be so strong, should fall so immeasurably 
below his *' weaker " self, in the difficult lesson of 
self-control and forgiveness of injuries. 



Some men profess to dislike coquetry ; if so, why 
do they encourage it ? Why do they often leave a 
sensible, well-informed woman to play *' wall-flower," 
while they talk nonsense to some brainless doll, who 
can only ogle, sigh and simper ? It appears to us 
that men are to blame for most of the faults of 
women. We always regret to hear a man who has 
matrimonial views say of a girl, she don't know 
much, but she is amiable, has a pretty face, and 
after all, if I need society, it is easy enough to find 
it elsewhere. A man has no right to marry a 
woman with intentions so widely diverse from those 
he professes to entertain, when he vows to be a hus- 
band ; he is responsibly blameworthy for the conse- 
quences that result from such an act ; besides, it is a 
very mistaken notion some men seem to have, that a 
fool is easily managed ; there is no description of 
animal so difficult to govern ; what they lack in 
brains they are sure to make up in obstinacy, or a 
low kind of cunning. Then a pretty face cannot 
last forever, and the old age of a brainless beauty, 
we shudder to contemplate, even at a distance. 
Women aim to be what men oftenest like to see 
them ; you may, therefore, easily gauge the mascu- 



262 Folly as it Flies, 

line standard bj the majority of women one daily 
meets. Heaven pity the exceptions ! they must find 
their mates in another world than this. 



One of the meanest things a yonng man can do, 
and it is not at all of uncommon occurrence, is to 
monopolize the time, and attention, of a young girl 
for a year, or more, without any definite object, and 
to the exclusion of other gentlemen, who, supposing 
him to have matrimonial intentions, absent them- 
selves from her society. This selfish " dog-in-the- 
manger '' way of proceeding should be discounte- 
nanced and forbidden, by all parents and guardians. 

It prevents the reception of eligible offers of mar- 
riage, and fastens upon the you.ng lady, when the 
acquaintance is finally dissolved, the unenviable and 
unmerited appellation of "flirt." Young man, let 
all your dealings with women, be frank, honest and 
noble. That many whose education and position in 
life are culpably criminal on these points, is no 
excuse for your short-comings. It adds a blacker 
dye to your meanness, that woman is often wronged 
through her holiest feelings. One rule is always 
safe : Treat every woman you meet^ as you would wish 
another man to treat your innocent, confiding sister. 



After all, how any young fellow can have the 
face to walk into your family, and deliberately ask 



A Little Talk with ''the Other Sex^ 263 

for one of jonr claiigliters, astonislies me. That it is 
done every day, does not lessen my amazement at 
the sublime impudence of the thing. There you 
have been, sixteen, or seventeen, or eighteen years 
of her life, combing her hair, and washing her face 

for Mm. It is lucky the thought never strikes 

you while you are doing it, that this is to be the end 
of it all. What if you were married yourself ? that 
is no reason why she should be bewitched away into 
a separate establishment, just as you begin to lean 
upon her, and be proud of her ; or, at least, it stands 
to reason, that after you have worried her through 
the measles, and chicken-pox, and scarlet-fever, and 
whooping-cough, and had her properly baptized and 
vaccinated, this young man might give you a short 
breathing-spell before she goes. 

j&e seems to be of a different opinion ; lie not only 
insists upon taking her, but upon taking her imme- 
diately. He talks well about it — very well; 
you have no objection to him, not the least in 
the world except that. "When the world is full of 
girls, why couldn't he have fixed his eye on the 
daughter of somebody else? There are some 
parents who are glad to be rid of their daughters. 
Blue eyes are as plenty as blueberries ; why need it 
be this particular pair ? Isn't she happy enough as 
she is ? Don't she have meat and bread and clothes 
enough, to say nothing of love ? "What is the use 
of leaving a certainty for an uncertainty, when that 
certainty is a mother, and you can never have but 



264 Folly as it Flies, 

one ? You put all these questions to her, and she 
has the sauciness to ask, if that is the way you 
reasoned, when her father came for you. You dis- 
dain to answer, of course ; it is a mean dodging of 
the question. But she gets round you for all that, 
and so does he too, though you try your best not to 
like him ; and with a — " well; if I must, I must," 
you just order her wedding-clothes, muttering to your- 
self the while, — " dear — dear — what sort of a fist will 
that child make at the head of a. house? how will 
she ever know what to do in this, that, or the other 
emergency — she who is calling on "mother" fifty 
times a day to settle every trifling question? 
What folly for her to set up house for herself! How 
many mothers have had these foreboding thoughts 
over a daughter's wedding-clothes; and yet that 
daughter has met life, and its unexpected reverses, 
with a heroism and courage as undaunted as if every 
girlish tear had not been kissed away by lips, that 
alas I may be dust, when this baptism of woman- 
hood comes upon her. 



In my opinion, the " coming " woman's Alpha and 
Omega will not be matrimony. She will not of 
necessity sour into a pink-nosed old maid, or throw 
herself at any rickety old shell of hum.anity, whose 
clothes are as much out of repair as his morals. No, 
the future man will have to " step lively ;" this wife 
is not to be had for the whisthng. He will have a 



A Little Talk with " the Other Sex, 265 

long canter round the pasture for her, and then she 
will leap the fence and leave him limping on the 
ground. Thick-soled boots and skating are coming 
in, and " nerves," novels and sentiment (bj conse- 
quence) are going out. The coming woman, as I 
see her. is not to throw aside her needle ; neither is 
she to ■ sit embroidering worsted dogs and cats, or 
singing doubtfal love ditties, and rolling up her 
eyes to ^' the chaste moon.'' 

Heaven forbid she should stamp round with a 
cigar in her mouth, elbowing her neighbors, and 
puffing smoke in their faces ; or stand on the free- 
love platform, public or private — call it hy what spe- 
cious name you luill — wooing men who, low as they 
may have sunk in their own self-respect, would die 
before they would introduce her to the imsullied 
sister who shared their cradle. 

Heaven forbid the coming woman should not 
have warm blood in her veins, quick to rush to her 
cheek, or tingle at 'her fingers' ends when her heart 
is astir. No, the coming woman shall be no cold, 
angular, flat-chested, narrow-shouldered, sharp-vis- 
aged Betsey, but she shall be a bright-ey^d, full- 
chested, broad-shouldered, large-souled, intellectual 
being ; able to walk, able to eat, able to fulfill her 
maternal destiny, and able — if it so please God — to 
go to her grave happy, self-poised and serene, though 
unwedded. 

12 



266 Folly as it Flies, 

"We often tliink of tlie solitariness and isolation of 
the young man — a stranger in a crowded citj ; sud- 
denly cut adrift, perliaps from loving home influ- 
ences — finding an inexorable necessity in liis nature 
for sympathy and companionship — returning at 
night, when his day's toil is done, to his dreary, cell- 
like room, or, if he go out, solicited by myriad 
treacherous voices to unlearn the holy lessons taught 
at his mother's knee — solicited to show his " manli- 
ness" by drinking with every acquaintance that 
•chance or the devil may send. That youth must 
needs be strongly intrenched in the true idea of 
" manliness " not to waver and turn aside from his 
own independent course of well-doing. Alas ! that 
to so many the fear of ridicide, or dread of " oddity," 
should have power to draw a veil over the swift and 
sure downfall of the drunkard or profligate. Alas ! 
that the little word No should be so impossible of 
articulation — in a circle, too, whose sneering con- 
demnation of it were not worth a thought, no matter 
how brilliantly the jest or the song may issue from 
lips foul with the sophistry of " fi"ee-love ;" than 
which /reecZom nothing is more shackled with disgust 
and pain ; for try as we will, God's image, though 
marred, shall never be wholly effaced : enough shall 
be left in every man's and woman's soul to protest 
against such desecration, though it voice itself, as it 
often does, in bitter denunciation of what the soul 
knows to be its only true happiness. The holy stars 
make no record of the gasping sigh, brief but intense, 



A Little Talk with ''the Other Sex,'' 267 

that their puritj has evoked. The little bird trills 
out its matins, and vespers, all unconscious that 
their sweetness forces the u.nwelcome tear from some 
world-sated eje. Bless God, these moments will 
and do come to the most reckless— these swift her- 
alds of our immortality — to be silenced never in this 
world ; if disregarded, to . be mourned over forever 
in the next ; for the fiercest theologian's idea of 
"hell " can never, it seems to me, go beyond the con- 
sciousness of god-like powers wasted and debased — 
noble opportunities of benefiting our race defiling 
past the memory in mournful procession, and the 
sorrowing soul nerveless, powerless to bid them stay. 
To every young man entering the lists against the 
vices of a crowded city, at such fearful odds, we 
would say: cultivate an acquaintance, as soon as 
possible, with some family, or families, whose health- 
ful influence may be your talisman against evil 
associations, whose good opinion may give an impe- 
tus to your self-respect, and whose cheerful fireside 
may outshine the ignis-fatuus lights which dazzle 
but to mislead. To those who see difficulties or 
impossibilities in this, we would suggest the cultiva- 
tion of a taste for reading, which surely may be com- 
passed in a city, even by a young person of slender 
means. Good books are safe, pleasant and econom- 
ical company. The time spent with them is an 
investment which will not fail to yield a satisfying 
interest for all future time. Let those who will — 
and their name, we fear, is legion — wreck health and 



268 Folly as it Flies. 

reputation, for tTie lack of courage or desire to be 
true to their better feelings ; let tliose who will, 
cover tbeir inclination to do evil with tlie transparent 
excuse "that it is well to see life in all its phases." 
As well might a perfectly healthy person from mere 
curiosity breathe the tainted air of every pest-house 
in the country. Ko thanks are due to his fool-hardy 
temerity if he escape; "served him right!" w-ould 
be the unanimous verdict of common sense if he 
should not. 

To him who, eschewing such unwisdom, chooses 
to breathe a healthful, moral atmosphere, it may be 
a reflection worth having, that he will bring to his 
future home a constitution and principles as sound 
as those he so properly requires in the wife of his 
choice and the mother of his children ; and I confess 
myself anable to see why this should be more neces- 
sary in the case of one parent than in that of the 
other. Such men, and such only^ have a call to he 
husbands. 




A CEAPTEB ON MEN. 

HAT constitutes a liandsome man ? Well — 
tliere must be enough, of him ; or, failing in 
that, but, come to think of it, he mustnt fail 
in that, because there can be no beauty without 
health, or at least, according to mj way of thinking. 
In the second place, he must have a beard ; whiskers 
— as the gods please, but a beard I insist upon, else 
one might as well look at a girl. Let his voice have 
a dash of Niagara, with the music of a baby's laugh, 
in it. Let his smile be like the breaking fortli of the 
sunshine on a spring morning. As to his figure, it 
should be strong enough to contend with a man, and 
slight enough to tremble in the presence of the wom- 
an he loves. Of course, if he is a well made man, it 
follows that he must be graceful, on tlie principle that 
perfect machinery always moves harmoniously ; there- 
fore you and himself and the milk pitcher, are safe 
elbow neighbors at the tea-table. This style of hand- 
some man would no more think of carrying a cane, 
than he would use a parasol to keep the sun out of 
his eyes. He can wear gloves, or warm his hands in 
bis breast pockets, as he pleases. He can even com- 
mit the suicidal-beauty-act of turning his outside 



270 A Chapter on Men, 

coat-collar up over liis ears of a stormy day, with, 
perfect impunity ; — tlie tailor didnH mahe Jiim^ and as 
to Ms hatter, if he depended on this handsome man's 
patronage of the " latest spring style," I fear he 
would die of hope deferred ; and yet — by Apollo ! 
what a bow he makes, and what an expressive adieu 
he can wave with his head ! For all this he is not 
conceited — for he hath hraiiis. 

But your conventional "handsome man," of the 
barb er's-window- wax-figure-head-pattern ; with a pet 
lock in the middle of his forehead, an apple-sized 
head, and a raspberry moustache with six hairs in it ; 
a pink spot in its cheek, and a little dot of a 
'^'goatee" on its cunning little chin;^with pretty 
blinking little studs in its shirt bosom, and a neck-tie 
that looks as if he would faint were it tumbled, I'd 
as lief look at a poodle. I always feel a desire to 
nip it up with a pair of sugar-tongs, drop it gently 
into a bowl of cream, and strew pink rose-leaves over 
its little remains. 

After all, when soul magnetizes soul^ the question 
of beauty is a dead letter. Whom one loves is always 
handsome^ the world's arbitrary rules notwithstand- 
ing ; therefore when you say " what can the hand- 
some Mr. Smith see to admire in that stick of a Miss 
Jones?" or, " what can the pretty Miss T. see to like 
in that homely Mr. Johns ?" you simply talk non- 
sense — as you generally do, on such subjects. Still 
the parson gets his fees, and the census goes on all 
the same. 



A Chapter on Men, 271 

I wonder wlij people decry a masculine blusli : I 
don't know. I immediately love the man wlio blush- 
es. I am sure that he is unhackneyed; that he 
has not a set of meaningless, cut and dried compli- 
ments on hand, for every woman he meets ; that he 
has not learned to sniff at sacred things, or prate 
transcendentally about " afi&nities " or any other cor- 
ruption under a new-fangled name. I know 'that 
his love will be worth a pure woman's having ; that 
he will not be ashamed of liking home, or his baby, 
or laughed out of staying in it in preference to any 
other place. I know that when he stops at a hotel, 
his first business will not be to hold a private confer- 
e::ce with the cook, to tell him how he likes an ome- 
lette made. I know that in his conversation he will 
not pride- himself upon the small fopperies of talk, 
in the way of pronunciation and newly coined words, 
to show how well he is posted up in dictionary mat- 
ters. I know that he will not be closeted two thirds 
of his time with his tailor ; or think it fine to be 
continually quoting some dead-and-gone book, 
known only to some resurrectionist of scarce authors. 
I know he will not sit in grimstarched statuesque- 
ness in a car, when a woman old enough to be his 
mother, is standing wearily in front of him, swaying 
to and fro with the motion of the vehicle. In short, 
I know that he is not a petrifaction ; that there's 
human nature in him, and plenty of it ; that he is 
not like an animal under an exhausted receiver, 



272 Folly as it Flies, 

having form only — ^in whom there is no spring, nor 
elasticity, nor breath of life. 

A fool, hey? No, .sir — not necessarily a fool 
neither. The fool is he who, not yet at life's meridian, 
has exhausted it and himself; who thinks^ every man 
*' gi*een " who has not taken his diploma in wicked- 
ness. For whom existence is as weary as a thrice- 
told tale. Who has crowded four-score years into 
twenty, or less ; and has nothing left for it but to 
sneer at the healthy, simple, pure, fresh joys which 
may never come again to his vitiated palate. 

Yerj likely you have met him : this hlase man, 
who, though yet at life's meridian, has squeezed 
life as dry as an orange. Who has seen everything, 
heard everything, ate everything, drank everything, 
traveled everywhere, but' into his own heart, to see 
its utter selfishness. Who is willing, upon the 
whole, to tolerate his fellow-creatures, provided they 
don't speak to him when he wants to be silent, or 
annoy him by peculiarities of dress, manner and 
conversation. Who remains immovably grave when 
everybody else laughs, and smiles when everybody 
else looks grave ; who lifts his eyebrows and shrugs 
his shoulders dissentingly, when people who have . 
not like him "been abroad," applaud. Who talks 
knowingly and mystically of " art," and thinks it fine 
to showerbath everybody's enthusiasm with " to-l-e-r- 
a-b-l-e." Who goes to church occasionally, but 
owing to the prevalence of badly -fitting coats and 
vests in the assembly, is unable to attend to the 



A Chapter on Men. 273 

service ; who don't care much what a man's creed is, 
provided he onlj takes it mild. He likes to see a 
woman plump and well-made, but abhors the idea of 
her eating ; likes to see her rosy, but can't abide an 
india-rubber on her foot, even in the most consump- 
tive-breeding weather ; thinks it would be well were 
she domestic when he considers his tea and coffee, 
but don't believe in aprons and calico. Thinks she 
should be religious, because it would be a check-rein 
upon her tongue when his liver is out of order ; and 
keep her true to him when he leaves her with all 
her yearning affections, to take care of herself 

And so our hlase, man yawns away existence, 
everything^ outward and inward tending only to the 
great central I, when life might be so glorious, so 
bright, would he only recognize the existence of 
others. For how much is that education valu- 
able, the result of which is only this? For how 
much that refinement which lifts a man so high in 
the clouds, that no cry of humanity, be it ever so 
sharp and piercing, can reach him ? I turn away 
from his face, on which ennui and selfishi ess have 
ploughed such furrows of discontent, to the laborer 
in his red flannel shirt-sleeves, who, returning at sun- 
set, dinner-pail in hand, has well earned the right to 
clasp in his arms the little child who runs to meet 
him. He may be illiterate, he may be uneducated, 
but he is a man ; and by that beautiful retributive 
law of our being, by which the most useful and un- 
selfish shall be the healthiest, and happiestj he has 
his reward. 




LITERABY PEOPLE. 



I HE verdant haye an idea, that literary people 
are always under tlie influence of " the divine 
afflatus ;" but, like tlie curious female wlio 
gazed through the bars of the doomed man's cell to 
gloat over his situation, and was told by her victim, 
that, although the gallows was impending, " he 
couldn't cry all the time," they are doomed to disap- 
pointment. 

When a literary person's exhaustive work is over, 
the last thing he wishes to do is to talk took. The 
last person he wishes to meet is another unfortunate, 
who also has been cudgelling his brains for ideas. 
The person whom he wishes to see most, if, indeed, 
he desire to see anybody, is one who will stir up his 
mentality least. The laurel- wreath, which the ver- 
dant suppose he settles carefully and becomingly on 
his head, before the looking-glass, ere he goes forth, 
he would be glad to toss into the first ash-barrel; 
and, so far from desiring to regulate his personal ap- 
pearance, according to the programme marked out by 
the sentimental, he feels only an insane desire to be 
let severely alone, and "let Natur caper," if, indeed, 
she has not forgotten how. 



Literary People. 275 

He wants — this wise man — to hear some merry lit- 
tle child sing : 

"Hickory, dickory, dock, 
The mouse ran up the clock ; 
The clock struck one, 
And down he ran : 
Hickory, dickory, dock." 

Or he wants to lean over a fence and see the tur- 
nips grow. It rests him to think that the fat, lazy 
pigs never think, but lie winking their pink eyes 
forever at the sun. In short, as I told you, he wants 
just the antipodes of himself. 

The sentimental will perceive, from this, the small 
chance they stand for edification, or amusement, 
from " hterary people " when off duty. Blithe ladies 
will see, how very jolly it must be to marry a poet 
or an author. But what shall we say of " the situa- 
tion " when a literary man and a literary woman are 
yoked ? When the world abroad demands the best 
of each, and nothing is left for home consumption ? 
When, instead of writing sonnets to each other, and 
looking at the chaste moon in their leisure moments, 
as the sentimental have arranged it, they are too 
used up to do anything but gape ? When a change 
of programme would not onl}^ be a blessing, but ab- 
solutely necessary, to stave off a Coroner's Inquest ? 
When the sight of a book to either, is like water to 
a mad dog : particularly the sight of their own books, 
which represent such an amount of headache, and 
bother, and sleepless nights, to enable a critic to no^ 
tice only a printer's mistake in a date, which is gen- 



276 Folly as it Flies. 

erallj set down to tlie author's " want of knowledge 
of Ms subject?" When they wonder, in the rasped 
state of their nerves, what life is worth, if it is to be 
forever pitched up to that key ? When they can't 
open their mouths on any subject, without perversely 
saying everything they donH mean, and nothing that 
they do ? 

Ah ! then is the time for them to catch sight of 
that athlete — ^the day-laborer, in red flannel shirt- 
sleeves, whistling along home with his tools. Do 
you hear? Tools! Happy man! He won't have 
to manufacture Ms tools before he begins to-morrow's 
work. He can pound away all day, and sing the 
while, and no organ-grinder has power to drive him 
mad. 



It is a difficult thing for literary people, as well as 
others, to tell the truth sometimes. ISTow here is a 
letter containing an article by which the writer hopes 
to make money ; and of which my " candid opinion 
is asked, as soon as convenient." 

Now in the first place, the article is most illegibly 
written ; an objection sufficient to condemn it at once, 
with a hurried editor — and all editors are hurried — 
beside having always a bushel basket full of MSS. 
already in hand to look over. In the second place, 
the spelling is wofully at fault. In the third place, 
the punctuation is altogether missing. In the fourth 
place, if all these things were amended, the article 



Literary People, 277 

itself is tame, common-place, and badly expressed. 
JSTow that is my " candid opinion " of it. 

Still, I am not verdant enough to believe that the 
writer wished my " candid opinion " were it so con- 
demnatory as this ; and should I give it, there is 
great danger it would be misconstrued. The author, 
in his wounded self-love, might say, that, being a wri- 
ter myself, I was npt disposed to be impartial. Or 
he might go farther and say that I had probably for- 
gotten the time when 1 commenced writing, and 
longed for an appreciative or encouraging word my- 
self Now this would pain me very much ; it would 
also be very unjust ; because when I began to write 
I called that person, my best and truest friend who 
dared tell me when I was at fault in such matters. 
I have now in my remembrance a stranger, wJio 
often wrote me, regarding my articles, as they ap- 
peared from time to time ; who criticised them unspar- 
ingly ; finding fault in the plainest Saxon when he 
could not approve or praise. I thanked him then, I 
do so now ; and was gratified at the singular interest 
he manifested in one unknown to him. I have 
never seen him all these years of my literary effort ; 
but I know him to have been more truly my fi:iend 
than they who would flatter me into believing better 
of what talent I may possess than it really merits. 

This is the way I felt about friendly though unfa- 
vorable criticism. The question is, have / sufiicient 
courage to risk being misunderstood, should I, in 
this instance, speak honestly and plainly. Or shall 



278 Folly as it Flies, 

I write a very polite, non-committal answer, meaning 
anything, or nothing. Or shall I praise it nnquali- 
fiedly, and recommend the writer to persevere in a 
vocation in which I am sure he is certain to be 
doomed to disappointment ; and all for the sake of 
being thought a generous, genial,- kindly, sympa- 
thetic sort of person. 
Which shall I do f 

The writer would not like to descend from his 
pedestal, and hear that he must begin at the foot of 
the ladder, and first of all, learn to spell correctly, 
before he can write. And that after words, must 
come thoughts ; and that after thoughts, must come 
the felicitous expression of thoughts. And that, 
after all that, he nrast then look about for a market 
for the same. 

This, you see, is a tedious process to one who wants 
not only immediate but large pecu.niary results, and 
evidently considers himself entitled to them, notwith- 
standing his deference to your " candid opinion." 

But what a pleasure, when the person appealed to, 
can conscientiously say to a writer, that he has not 
over but w?zcZer-rated his gifts ! What a pleasure, if 
one's opinion can be of any value to him, to be able 
to speak encouragingly of the present, and hopefully 
for the future. And surely, he who has himself 
waded through this initiatory "Slough of Despond," 
and, by one chance in a thousand, landed safely on 
the other side, should be the last to beckon, or lure 
into it, those whose careless steps, struggle they ever 



Literary People, 279 

so blindly, may never find sure or permanent foot- 
hold. 

''What did I do, after all, about that letter f 
"Well, if you insist upon cornering me, it lies unan- 
swered on my desk, this minute: a staring monu- 
ment of the moral cowardice of Fan:n"Y Feen". 




SOME VARIETIES OF WOMEN: 

'HIEF of all sublunary abominations is the 
slatternly woman. I blame no man for 
longing to rusb from a house, the misti'ess of 
which, habitually, and from choice, pays him the 
poor compliment of pouring out his coffee in curl- 
papers, or tumbled hair, or dingy, collarless morning 
gown, and slip-shod feet. If there is a time when 
a pretty woman looks prettier than at any hour in 
the twenty -four, it is in a neat breakfast toilette, with 
her shining bands of hair, and nice breakfast robe, 
(calico, if you like, provided it fit well, and the color 
be well chosen) ; and if there is a time when a plain 
woman comes the nearest to being handsome, it is in 
this same lovable, domestic dress. 

I will maintain that the coffee and eggs taste 
better, and that the husband goes more smilingly 
and hopefully to his day's task, after helping such a 
wife to bread and butter. I could never compre- 
hend the female slattern — thank heaven there are 
few of them — or understand how a woman, though 
she had no eye to please but her own, should not be 
scrupulously neat in all the different strata of her 
apparel. 

I repeat it, I blame no man from rushing in dis- 
gust from a house whose mistress is a slattern ; who 



Some Varieties of Women, 281 

» 

never pays lier husband the comphment to look 
decent in her person or in her house, unless company 
is expected ; who reserves her yawns and old dresses 
for her husband, and strikes an attitude for his male 
friends ; whose pretty carpets are defaced with spots ; 
whose chairs are half dusted; whose domestic din- 
ners are uneatable ; whose table-cloth, castors, and 
salt-cellars are seldom regenerated ; and whose 
muslins look as if they had been dipped in saf- 
ron. 

ISTot to speak of the wastefulness of this crying 
fault: bonnets, shawls and cloaks will not long 
retain their beauty if left on chairs or tables over 
night, instead of -being carefully put away ; bracelets 
and brooches are not improved by being trodden 
upon, or ribbons and laces by being hastily wisped 
into a corner. To sucb an extreme do I carry my 
horror of an untidy woman, that I would almost 
refuse to believe in the virtue of such an one. Not 
that I admire the woman who is always at her hus- 
band's heels with a brush and a dust-pan ; who puts 
him under the harrow if he does not place his boots 
under the scraper before entering the parlor ; who 
has fit-s if his coat is not hung uj) on the left side of 
the door instead of the right ; who when he has but 
ten minutes to spare after breakfast to enjoy the 
morning paper, drives him out of his comfortable 
corner by the fire, to brush up a spoonful of ashes 
on the hearth; who is always "righting," as she 
calls it, his own particular den, which I am con- 



282 Folly as it Flies, 

vinced all liiisbands must be allowed to enjoy, neck 
deep in confusion unmolested, if their wives wish 
the roof to stay on. 

I once had the misfortune to live in the house 
with such a female, whose husband roosted half his 
in-door time on the top of the table, to keep clear of 
the mop. How her cap-strings flew through the 
doors ; what galvanized broomsticks she wielded : 
how remorselessly she ferreted out closets, and disem- 
bowelled cupboards ; how horribly she scraped glass 
and paint ; and how anxious she looked to begin 
again when it was all done. How I slunk behind 
doors, and dodged behind screens, and jumped out 
of windows, to get out of the vixen's way ; and how 
I sat swinging in the elm tree in the orchard at a 
safe distance till the whirlwind was past. 

Heavens ; how that india-rubber woman would 
go to baking after she had done cleaning, and to 
ironing after she had done baking, and to sewing 
after she had done both ; how vindictively she 
twitched her needle through, as if she wished it were 
some live thmg, that she might make it feel weari- 
ness and pain. How like whipped spaniels her 
children looked ; and what a reverence they had for 
washing and ironing days ; how remorselessly she 
scrubbed their noses up and down of a Sunday 
morning, and shoved them into ther " meetin 
clothes,'' turning the pockets carefully inside out, to 
see that no stray bit of string, or carnal marble, or 
fish-hook remained, to alleviate the torture of the 



Some Varieties of Women, 283 

long-drawn seyenteentlilies of tlie parson's impracti- 
cable discourse. 

Still tliis female gave her husband light bread to 
eat ; bis coffee and tea were always strong and hot ; 
be might have shaved himself bj the polish of the 
parlor table ; his buttons were on his shirts, and his 
stockings always mended; but the man — and he 
was human — might as well have laid his night-cap 
beside a sewing-machine. And oh, the weary details 
of roasting, baking and broiling to which he was 
compelled to listen and approve between the pauses. 
The- messes, which in any other female hands but 
hers, would inevitably have stewed over or burnt up 
or evaporated. The treasure he had in her, culina- 
rily and pecuniarily, though he didn't know it ! 

What I want to know is this : 

Must a model housekeeper always have thin lips, 
thick ankles, a bolster-figure, and a fist like an over- 
grown beet ? ISTeed she take hold of her children as 
if total depravity were bristling out of every hair of 
their heads ? ISTeed the unhappy cat always take its 
tail under its arm and creep into the ash-hole when- 
ever she looks at it ? is a sweet temper fore- 
ordained to be incompatible with sweet cupboards ? 
Would it be unchristian to strangle such women 
with their own garters? 

I pause for a reply. 



284 Folly as it Flies, 

I don't like to admit it, but tTiere are two things 
a woman can't do. First, slie canH sharpen a lead 
pencil. Give her one and see. Mark liow jaggedly 
she hacks away every particle of wood from the 
lead, leaving a spike of the latter, which breaks 
as soon as yon try to use it. Yon can almost 
forgive the male creature his compassionate con- 
tempt, as chucking her under the chin, he twitches 
it from her awkward little paw, and rounds, and 

tapers it off in the most ravishing manner, for durable 
-jjgQ ^ % * * * ^ * 

Last week a philanthropist (need I say a male 
philanthropist) knowing my weakness, presented 
me with a two-cent-sharp.-pointed-lead-pencil. My 
dreams that night were peaceful. I awoke like a 
strong-minded woman to run a race. I sat down to 
my desk. I might have known it ; "I never loved, 
a tree or flower," etc. Some fiend had "borrowed" 
it. Oh the misery that may be contained in that 
word "borrowed." When you are in a hurry; 
when the " devil " is waiting in the basement, stamp- 
ing his feet to get back to the printing-of&ce ; when 
you've nothing but a miserable little " chunky "-old- 
worn-out-stub of an inch long lead pencil to make 
your " stet "-s and " d "-s. Shade of Ben Franklin ! 
shall I, before I " shuffle off tins mortal coil " — 
though I don't know what that is, — ever own another 
two-cent sharp-pointed-lead-pencil ? 

I have said that there are two things a woman 



Some Varieties of Wome^z, 285 

can't do. I liave mentioned one. I wish, to liear no 
argument on that pointy because when I once make up 
mj mind " all the king's men " can't change it. Well, 
then — Secondly: A woman can't do up a bundle. 
She takes a whole newspaper to wrap up a paper of 
pins, and a coil of rope to tie it, and then it comes 
unfastened. When I go shopping, which it is some- 
times mj hard lot to do, I look with the fascinat- 
ed gaze of- a bird in the neighborhood of a magnetic 
serpent, to watch clerks doing up bundles. How the 
paper falls into just the right creases ! how deftly 
they turn it over, and tuck it under, and tie it up, 
and then throw it down on the counter, as if they 
had done the most common-place thing in the world, 
instead of a deed which might — and, faith, does — 
task the ingenuity of " angels !" It is perfectly as- 
tonishing ! It repays me for all my botheration in 
matching this color and deciding on that, in* hearing 
them call a piece of tape " a chaste article," and for 
sitting on those revolving stools fastened down so 
near the counter, that it takes a peculiarly construct- 
ed shopper to stay on one of them. 

Thirdly — I might allude to the fact that women 
.cannot carry an umbrella ; or rather to the very pe- 
culiar manner in which they perform that duty ; but 
I won't. I scorn to turn traitor to a sex who, what- 
ever may be their faults, — are always loyal to each 
other. — So I shall not say, as I might otherwise 
have said, that when they unfurl the parachute allud- 
ed to, they put it right down over their noses, — take 



286 Folly as it Flies. 

tlie middle of the sidewalk, raking off men's liats 
and woman's bonnets, as tliey go, and walking right 
into the breakfast of some unfortunate wight, with 
that total disregard of the consequent ^asp, which 
to be understood must be felt^ as the offender 
cocks up one corner of the parachute, and looks de- 
fiantly at the victim who has had the effrontery to 
come into the world and hazard the whalebone and 
handle of lier " umberil !" No, I won't speak of any- 
thing of the kind ; besides, has not a celebrated writ- 
er remarked, that when dear " woman is cross, it is 
only because she is side f " Let us hope he is right. 
"We all know that is not the cause of a man's cross- 
ness. Oive him his favorite dish, and you may dine 
off him afterward — if you want to. 

Amiable creatures are the majority of women — to 
each other ; charitable — above all things charitable ! 
Always ready to acknowledge each other's beauty, 
or grace, or talent. Never sneer down a sister 
woman, or pay her a patronizing compliment with 
the finale of the inevitable — "5w^." Never run the 
cool, impertinent eye of calculation over her dress, 
noting the cost of each article, and summing up the 
amount in a contemptuous toss, whether it amounts 
to fifty cents or five hundred dollars, more likely 
when it is the latter ! Never say to a gentleman 
who praises a lady, what a pity she squints ! Never 
say of an authoress, oh yes — she has talent, but 1 
prefer the domestic virtues ; as if a combination of 
the two were necessarily impossible, or as if the 



Some Varieties of Woinen, 287 

speaker liad tlie personal knowledge wliich qualified 
her to pronounce on that individual case. 

Well-bred, too, are women to sister woman. — 
Never discuss the color of her hair, or the style of 
its arrangement, her smile, her gait, so that she can 
hear every word of it. ISTever take it for granted 
that she is making a dead-set at a man, to whom she 
is only replying — "Yery well, I thank you, sir." 
Never sit in chm'ch and stare her out of counten- 
ance, while mentally taking her measure, or nudge 
some one to look at her, while recaj^itulating within 
ear-shot all the contemptible gossip which weak- 
minded, empty-headed women are so fond of retail- 
ing. 

Kow just let a dear woman visit you.. Don't you 
Icnoio that her eyes are peering into every corner and 
crevice of your house all the while she is " dear "-ing 
and ^^ sioteV^ -ivLg you? Don't you know that her 
lynx eyes are on the carpet for possible spots, or 
mismatched roses? Don't she touch her fingers to 
the furniture for stray particles of dust ? Don't she 
hold her tumblers up to the light, and examine 
microscopically the quality of your table-cloths and 
napkins, and improvise an errand into your kitchen 
to inspect your culinary arrangements, to the infinite 
disgust of Bridget ? Don't she follow you like a 
spectre all over the house, till you. are as nervous as 
a cat in a cupboard ? Don't she sit down opposite you 
for dreary honrs, with folded hands, and that horse- 
leech — " now-talk-to-me " air — which quenches all 



288 Folly as it Flies, 

your vitality — and sets you gaping, as inevitably as 
a minister's " seventeenthlyy 

All, tlie children ! How could I forget the little 
children ? / cla^p the hand of universal womvn on 
that ; Heaven knows I don't want to misrepresent 
them. And after all, do I ever allow anybody to 
abuse them but me ? Never ! 



There are many kinds of women. Of course I 
adore them all ; but there is one who excites my un- 
feigned astonishment. I allude to the rabbit woman. 
She has four chins and twelve babies. She has two 
dresses — a loose calico wrapper for home wear, and 
a black silk for " meetin '." She eats tremendously, 
and never goes out; she calls her hiisband "Pa." 
She is quite content to roll leisurely from her rock- 
ing-chair in the nursery to the dining-room table, 
and thence back again, year in and year out She 
knows nothing that is passing in the outside world, 
nor cares. She never touches a book or a newspa- 
per, not even when she is rocking her baby to sleep, 
and might. She never troubles herself about Pa, so 
long as he don't get in her way, or sit on the twelve 
babies. She has a particular fondness for the child 
.who cries the most, and won't go to sleep without a 
stick of candy in each fist. She has a voice like an 
auctioneer, and prefers cabbage to any vegetable ex- 
tant. 

" Pa " is devoted to her, i. e., he calls her My dear, 
and as soon as he enters the house, before hanging 



Some Varieties of Women^ 289 

up his hat, kisses all the twelve children immedi- 
ately, whether dirtj or clean, and inquires tenderly 
after her health : keeps her stupid on a full diet, and 
flirts desperately, at a safe distance, behind her back. 

Secondy, there is the 'priTYi woman, with her mouth 
always in a prepared state to whistle ; who crosses 
over if she sees a man coming, and tosses up the end 
of her shawl when she sits down, lest she should 
crease it ; who keeps her parasol in several layers of 
tissue-paper when not on duty; puts her two shoes 
on the window-sill "to air" every night, and sug- 
gests more indelicacy by constantly running away 
from it, then she could ever find by the most zealous 
search. 

Thirdly, there is your butterfly woman, who, pro- 
vided her wings are gay and gauzy, is not particular 
where she alights. Who cannot exist out of the 
sunbeams, and dreads a rainy day like an old gown. 
Who values her male acquaintance according to their 
capabilities for trotting her to balls, operas and par- 
ties, and giving her rings and bouquets. Who spoils 
all the good looks she has, trying to make herself 
" look better," and turns into a very ordinary cater- 
pillar after marriage. 

Fourthly, there is your library woman, steeped in 
folios : steeped in languages, both living and dead ; 
steeped in ologies, steeped in politics; who walks 
round a baby as if it were a rattle-snake, and if she 
was bom with a heart, never has found it out 

Fifthly, there is your female viper — your cat — 
your hyena. All claws, nails and tongue. Wiry, 
13 



290 Folly as it Flies, 

bloodless, snappy, narrow, vindictive ; lapping up 
your life-blood witli her slanders, and clawing out 
your warm, palpitating heart Out on her ! 

Sixthly, there is your woman — ^pretty or plain, it 
matters not; lady-like by nature; intelligent, but 
not pedantic ; modest, yet not prudish ; strong- 
hearted, but not " strong-minded " (as that term is at 
present perverted) ; no " scholar," and yet well read ; 
no butterfly, and yet bright and gay. Merry with- 
out noise, silent without stupidity, religious without 
fanaticism, capable of an opinion, and yet able to 
hold her tongue. If married, not of necessity sink- 
ing into a mere machine; if unmarried, occupying 
herself with other things than husband-hunting. 
Liking books, yet not despising needles and brooms ; 
genial, unaffected, good-natured; with an active 
brain, and a live heart under lock and key. God 
bless her I wherever she is, for she redeems all the 
rest. 



Do you suppose that the woman ever lived who 
would prefer single to married life had she ever met 
with a man whom she could really love? I have 
seen cold, intellectual women, apparently self-poised 
and self-sustained, gliding like the moon on their 
solitary path alone, diffusing light, perhaps, but no 
warmth ; to the superficial observer looking as care- 
lessly down upon joy as upon sorrow ; but no power 
on earth could persuade me, that beneath that smooth 
ice there smouldered no volcano ; no reasoning per- 



Some Varieties of Women, 291 

suade me that those fingers woiild not rather have 
been twisting a baby's soft curls, than turning the 
leaves of musty folios ; no negative shake of the head, 
or forced laugh, prevent my eyes from following with 
sorrowful looks the woman who was trying to make 
herself believe such a lie. Let her pile her books 
shelf upon shelf, and scribble till her pen, ink, paper, 
thoughts, eyes and candle give out; — and then let 
her turn round and face her woman's lieart if she 
dare ! I defy her to stop long enough to listen one 
half hour to its pleadings. I defy her to sit down in 
the still moonlight and look on, while old memories 
in moui'nful procession defile before her so^il's mir- 
ror, without a smothered cry of anguish. I defy her 
to listen to the brook's ripple, the whispered leaf-mu- 
sic, or to look at the soft clouds, the quiet stars, the 
blossoming flowers, the little pairing birds as they 
build their nests — and above all, upon a mother with 
her babe's arms about her neck — without turning 
soul-sick away. She is not a woman if she can do 
othei'wise. She is not a woman if she can be satis- 
fied with clasping her own arms over a waist which, 
belongs to nobody but herself. I declare her to be 
a machine — a stick — and carved in straight instead 
of undulating lines ; she's an icicle— ^an ossification — 
a petrifaction — an abortion— a monster — ^let her keep 
her stony eyes and cold 'fingers off me; she has no 
place in this living, breathing, panting, loving world. 
Out upon her for a walking mummy — leave her to 
her hieroglyphics, which are beyond my understand- 
ing. 



292 Folly as it Flies, 

Pshaw — tliere are no such women ; thej are only 
making the best of what they can't help; they 
are eating thek own hearts and make no sign 
dying. They ought all to be wives and mothers. 
Cats, poodle-dogs, parrots — ^plants, canaries and ves- 
try meetings — are nothing to it No woman ever 
has the faintest glimpse into heaven till she has 
nursed her own baby ; in fact, I half doubt if she 
has earned a right to go there till she has legitimately 
had one. 

Now were I an old maid — ^had no man endowed 
me with the names of wife and mother, I would not 
go round the world whining about it, either in prose 
or verse, any more than I would affect a stoicism, 
transparent to every beholder; I would just adopt 
the' first fat baby I could find, though I had to work 
my fingers to the bone to keep its little mouth filled, 
I would have some motive to live — something to 
work for — something, in flesh and blood, which I 
could call my own : — some little live, warm thing to 
put my cheek against when my heart ached. Un- 
protected! — " A little child " with its pure presence, 
should be my protection. I wouldnH dry up and 
blow off like a useless leaf, with the warm, fragrant 
sunshine and blue sky about me, and my heart beat- 
ing against my breast like a trip-hammer. My lit- 
tle room shouldnH be cheerless and voiceless. I 
wouldnH die till some little voice had called me 
" mother," though my blood did not flow in its rosy 
veins. I would have something to make sunshine 
in my heart and home ; my nature shouldn't be like 



Some Varieties of Women, 293 

a tree growing close to a stone wall, only one half of 
which had a chance to develop, only one half of which 
caught the air and light and sunshine — no, I would 
tear myself up by the roots, and turn round and re- 
plant myself &ome bird should come, make its 
home with me, and sing for me ; else what use were 
my sheltering leaves? Better the lightning should 
strike me, or the woodman's axe cut me down. 



Men who have any physical defect, are apt to im- 
agine that it will forever be a barrier between them 
and woman's love. There never was a greater mis- 
take than this, as has been proved again and again 
in love's history. JSTot a hundred years since, nor a 
hundred miles distant, we heard of a young girl who 
had become strongly attached to a young man who 
was blind in one eye ; and for that very reason ! He 
was sensitive about his infirmity to that degree, that 
he shrank from general society, particularly that of 
ladies, whose presence seemed to make him morbidly 
miserable ; so much had he exaggerated what he was 
quite unaware would call forth sympathy, instead 
of ridicule, from any true woman. The young girl, 
of whom we speak, knowing what we have related 
about him, though personally a stranger to the yoimg 
man, had insensibly, through her pity, began to love, 
and was then earnestly seeking some way in which, 
without compromising her modesty, she could encour- 
age his notice of her. One thing you may always 
be sure of. No woman is in love with a man whom. 



294 Folly as it Flies, 

slie freely praises, and of whom slie oftenest speaks ; 
but if there is one whom she never names, if she start 
and blush when others name him, if she can find no 
voice to answer the most common-place question he 
addresses her, if she avoid him, and will have none 
of him, if she pettishly find fault with him when he 
is commended to her notice by others, look sharp, 
for that is the man. 




CONCEENING TEE MISTAKES ABOUT OUR . 
CHILDREN, 

BELIEYE every one is of tlie opinion tliat 
cldldren should be tanglit civility ; but there 
^^3 is one way that they are tortured, in the zealous 
parental endeavor to teach them politeness, which 
seems to us deserving of the severest reprehension. 
Some person comes to the house, it may be a valued 
and worthy friend, who is unfortunately repulsive in 
appearance and manners. Mamma tells Johnny to 
*' go kiss " the lady, or gentleman, as the case may 
be. Now Johnny, like other human beings, has his 
personal preferences, and in a case like this espe- 
cially, prefers spontaneity. He may obey, it is true, 
but it is a question when a simple recognition would 
have answered, whether an act involving hypocrisy 
were not better omitted. I speak from experience, 
remembering well the horror with which I looked 
forward, in my childhood, to the periodical visits of 
a snuffy old person. I think my uncompromising 
hatred of tobacco in every form, dates back to those 
forced snujffy kisses, followed in many cases by 
actual nausea, and in all by a vigorous facial -ablu- 
tion on my part, after the repulsive ceremony. To 
this day, a colored silk handkerchief, of the antique 
pattern most affected by snuff-takers, affects me as 



296 Folly as it Flies. 

does tlie sight of a red shawl, a belligerent rooster, or 
bull. 

That horrible colored silk handkerchief ! preferred 
to a white one, for a reason which makes one's flesh 
creep, and one's blood run cold, fumbled ever and 
anon from the stifling depths of a huge pocket, and 
flourished with its resurrectionized effluvia, under 
your disgusted and averted nose. Excuse my speak- 
ing with feeling, dear reader, for even in these later 
days have I sacrificed many a comfortable seat in a 
public conveyance that those infatuated lovers of 
the weed in eveiy shape might have a wide berth 
for their noisome atmosphere. Now, to force a little 
child, fresh and sweet, with a breath like a bunch 
of spring violets, to contact with such impolite per- 
sons, for the sake of "^oZifene55," seems to me an act 
of tyranny worthy of Nero. 



Some mothers seem unwilling to recognize a child's 
individuality. " She is such a strange child — so 
different from other children," a mother remarked in 
my hearing, with a sigh of discontent ; as if all 
children should be made after one model ; as if 
one of the greatest charms of life were not individu- 
ality ; as if one of the dearest, and weariest, and 
least improving, and most stagnating things in the 
world, were not a family or neighborhood which was 
only a mutual echo and re-echo. 

" Different from other children I" Well — let her he 
different; you can't help it if you would — ^you ought 



Mistakes about our Children, 297 

not if yoTi could. It is not your mission, or that of 
any parent, to crush out this or that faculty, or bias, 
which is God -implanted for wise purposes. You are 
only to modify and direct such by judicious counsel. 
A child who thinks for itself, prefers waiting upon 
itself, and is naturally self-sustained, is of course 
much more trouble than a heavy-headed child, who 
*' stays put " wherever and however you choose to 
*' dump " him down ; but it is useless to ask which, 
with equally good training, will be the most effi.cient 
worker in the great life-field. Suppose he does ques- 
tion your opinions occasionally, don't be in a hurry 
to call it " impertinence ;" don't be too lazy or too 
dignified to argue the matter with him ; thank God 
rather, that his faculties are wide awake and active. 
Nor does it necessarily follow that such a child 
must be contumacious or disobedient. Such a 
nature, however, should be tenderly dealt with. 
Firm yet gentle words — never injustice or harsh 
usage. You may tell such a child to "hold its 
tongue " when it corners you in an argument, ofteuj 
without any intentional disrespect, but you cannot 
prevent its thinking. It should not follow that a 
young person must, as a matter of course, though 
they mostly do, adopt the parental religious creed. 
Some parents I have known unwise enough to insist 
upon this. A forced faith for the wear and tear of 
life's trials, is but a broken reed to lean upon. On 
these subjects talk yourself; let your child talk, and 
then let him, hke yourself, be free to think and 
choose, when this is done. 



298 Folly as it Flies, 

Out of twenty violets in a garden, yoji shall not 
find any two alike, but this does not displease yon. 
One is a royal purple, another a light lilac ; one 
flecked with little bright golden spots, another 
shaded off with different tints of the same violet 
color, with a delicacy no artist could improva You 
plant them, and let them all grow and develop 
according to their nature, now and then plucking off 
a dead leaf, now loosening the earth about the roots, 
or watering or giving it shade or sunshine, as the 
case may be, but you don't try to erase the delicate 
tints upon its leaves and substitute others which 
you fancy are better. No human fingers could re- 
create what you would mar — ^you know that ; so 
you bend over it lovingly, and let it nod to the 
breeze, and bend pliantly to the shower, or lift its 
sweet face, when the sun shines out, and through 
all its various changes you do not sigh for monoto- 
ny. So, when I see a family of children, I like the 
mother*s blue eyes reproduced, and the father's black 
eyes. I like the waving, sunny locks, and the light 
brown, and the raven ; I like the peach-blossom 
skin, and the gipsy olive, round the same hearth- 
stone, all rocked in the same cradle. Each is beau- 
tiful of its kind ; the variety pleases me. Just so I 
like diversity in regard to temperament and mental 
faculties. Each have their merits; Heaven forbid 
they should be rolled and swathed up like mental 
mummies, bolt upright, rigid, and fearfully repeated ; 
no co]lision of mind to strike out new ideas, no 
progress, no improvement Surely this is not the 
age for that. 



Mistakes about our Children, 299 

A public toast recently given runs tlius ; " Our 
parents: the only tenders who never misplaced a 
switch." 

Now you may laugh at that — so did I — but where 
could you find a greater fib ? Many a time and oft 
have parents laid the switch on their children's 
backs, when they should have applied it to their 
own ; many a time has the lash which should have 
descended upon the back of the favorite, fallen upon 
his much abused brother's. There is nothing in cre- 
ation which parents so often misplace as the swftch ; 
and it need not of necessity be a birchen rod or a 
ferule ; there are switches which cut deeper than 
either, of which many a ruined man and woman can 
tell you. 

I knew two children — one blundering, but honest, 
sincere, self-reliant, speaking the. plain truth on all 
occasions without qualification, making his requests 
in few words, and smothering his disappointment as 
best he might when refused. The other, wily, diplo- 
matic, Chesterfieldian, ever with a soft word on the 
tip of his tongue, to pave the way for the much 
desired boon, which was never refused, so winning, 
so courteous, so apparently respectful was the 
seeker. Follow these two children. See the latter 
in the play-ground, boasting to his young associates 
what he has got from the " old gentleman " or the 
" old lady " boasting what he will yet get— boasting 
that he knows how to do it ; rehearsing to them the 
disgusting pantomime of the caress, the respectful, 
deferential attitude which he uses on such occasions. 



800 Folly as it Flies, 

Follow the other to his little room at the top of the 
house ; see him sitting in gloomy silence, too proud 
to weep, too proud to complain, brooding over the 
injustice done him — not hating the fraternal owner 
of the " coat of many colors," no thanks to those 
who gave them both birth, but looking into the far 
dim future with that wistful longing which comes 
of unloved, precocious childhood ; sitting there — with 
his own hand turning the poisoned arrow round and 
round in the ^festering wound, incapable of extract- 
ing it, and yet knowing no balm to assuage its intol- 
erable anguish. 

Follow out their two histories. See the Chester- 
fieldian favorite sent to college ; contracting long liv- 
ery-stable, hotel, and tailors' bills, with a perfect 
reliance upon his diplomatic abilities to '• set it all 
right with the old gentleman ;" thanking him deceit- 
fully for his unparalleled generosity to a son so 
unworthy ; alluding delicately to his pride in him as 
a father, and trusting some day to make a proper 
return for all his goodness, etc., etc. See the " stu- 
pid boy " who is summarily set down to be wanting 
in cleverness, accepting in silence this verdict, and 
the consequent disposal of his time in some uncon- 
genial, distasteful employment, till at last, wearied 
out by the silent drop that descends mercilessly and 
unremittingly, hour by hour, on his tortured soul, he 
rushes from the home which has been a home only 
in name, and wanders forth, with the gnawing pain 
in his heart for silent company. Merciful God I 
what is to keep him? His blood is young and 



Mistakes about our Children, 301 

warm, "his heart throbbing wildly in Ms breast for 
what every human thing yearns for — sympathy — 
love I 

Years pass on. The college boy returns with 
more knowledge of horses, wine and women, than of 
Greek, Latin and mathematics — returns to receive 
the congratulations of partial friends that he has 
passed off for pure gold the glittering brass of his 
showy superficiality. The truant's name is never 
mentioned, or if so, with the hope, not that he may 
be kept from evil, but " that he may not disgrace 
us." Meanwhile the wanderer lies languishing on a 
bed of sickness in a foreign country. "Woman's 
heart is the same in all lands, when pity knocks at 
it, else had he closed his eyes in exile. Pity he had 
not — ^pity he returned to be asked, with cold tones 
and averted eyes, why he did not stay there. Pity 
that he could not smother that unconquerable long- 
ing which approaching death brings, to look our last 
upon our native land. Pity that the errors born of 
neglected childhood, and forsaken youth, should have 
been held up to him by the pharisaical hands which 
goaded, him into them, even at the tomb's portal. 
Pity that sinful man may not be merciful as a holy, 
pitying God. 

I ask you, and you, and you, who have woven 
the " coat of many colors " for some one of your 
household — you who, by your partiality and short- 
sightedness, are fostering the rank weeds, and tramp- 
ling under foot the humble flowers — ^you who are 
bringing up children whose hearts shall one day be 



302 Folly as it Flies. 

colder to eacli other than the dead in their graves — 
yon npon whom shall be visited — alas ! too late — 
every scalding tear of agony and disappointment 
from out young eyes, which should have beamed 
only with hope and gladness ; — I ask every parent 
who is doing this, if he or she is willing that his or 
her child shall grow up by these means to lose his 
faith in man, and sadder still, in God ? 



I "WONDER is it foreordained that there shall be one 
child in every family whom " nobody can do anything 
with ?" Who tears around the paternal pasture with 
its heels in the air, looking at rules, as a colt does at 
fences, as good things to jump over. We all know 
that the poor thing must be " broken in," and all its 
graceful curvetings sobered down to a monotonous 
jog-trot ; that it must be taught to bear heavy bur- 
dens, and to toil up many a steep ascent at the touch 
of the spur ; but who that has climbed the weary 
height does not pass the halter round the neck of the 
pretty creature with a half-sigh, that its happy day 
of careless freedom should be soon ended ? 

How it bounds away from you, making you 
almost glad that- your attempt was a failure ; how 
lovingly your eye follows it, as it makes the swift 
breathless circle, and stops at a safe distance to nod 
you defiance. Something of all this every loving 
parent has felt, while trying to reduce to 'order the 
child whom "nobody can do anything with." 

Geography, grammar and history seem to be put 



Mistakes about our Children, 303 

into one ear, only to go ont at the other. The mul- 
tiplication table might as. well be written in Arabic, 
for any idea it conveys, or lodges, if conveyed, in 
the poor thing's head. Temperate, torrid, and frigid 
zones may all be of a temperature, for all she can 
remember, and her mother might have been present 
at the creation of the world, or at the birth of the 
Author of it, for aught she can chronologically be 
brought to see. 

But look ! she is tired of play, and has taken up 
her pencil to draw ; she has had no instruction ; but 
peep over her shoulder and follow her pencil ; there 
is the true artist touch in that little sketch, though 
she does not know it — a freedom, a boldness which 
teaching may regulate, never impart. Now she is 
tired of drawing, and takes up a volume of poems, 
far beyond the comprehension, one would think, .of 
a child of her years, and though she often miscalls a 
word, and knows little and cares less about commas 
and semi-colons, yet not the finest touch of humor or 
pathos escapes her, and the poet would be lucky, 
were he always sure of so appreciative a reader. 
She might tell you that France was bounded south 
by the Gulf of Mexico, but you yourself could not 
criticise Dickens or Thackeray with more discrimi- 
nation. 

Down goes the book, and she is on the tips of her 
toes pirouetting. She has never seen a dancing- 
school, nor need she ; perfectly modeled machinery 
cannot but move harmoniously ; she does not know, 
as she floats about, that she is an animated poem. 



304 Folly as it Flies. 

Now slie is tired of dancing, and slie throws herself 
into an old arm-chair, in an attitude an artist might 
copy, and commences to sing ; she is ignorant of 
quavers, crotchets and semi-breves, of tenors, bari- 
tones and sopranos, and yet you, who have heard 
them with rapturous encores, stop to listen to her 
simple melody. 

Now she is down in the kitchen playing cook ; 
she turns a beef-steak as if she had been brought up 
in a restaurant, and washes dishes for fun, as if it 
had been always sober earnest ; singing, dancing 
and drawing the cook's portrait at intervals, and all 
equally well done. 

Now send that child to any school in the land, 
where "Moral Science" is hammered remorselessly 
and uselessly into curly heads, and she would be pro- 
nounced an incorrigible dunce. Idiotically stupid 
paiTot-girls would ride over her shrinking, sensitive 
shame-facedness, rough-shod She would be kept 
after school, kept in during recess, and have a dis- 
couraging list of bad recitation marks as long as 
Long Island; get a crooked spine, grow ashamed 
of throwing snow-balls, have a chronic headache, and 
an incurable disgust of teachers and schools, as well 
she might 

She is like a wild rose, creeping here, climbing 
there, blossoming where you least expect it, on some 
rough stone wall or gnarled trunk, at its own free, 
graceful wilL You may dig it up and transplant it 
into your formal garden if you like, but you would 



Mistakes about our Children. 305 

never know it more for the luxuriant wild-rose, this 
" child whom nobody can do anything with." 

Some who read this may ask, and properly, is 
such a child never to know the restraint of rule ? I 
would be the last to answer in the negative, nor (and 
here it seems to me the great agony of outraged 
childhood comes in) would I have parents or teach- 
ers stretch or dwarf children of all sorts, sizes and 
capacities, on the same narrow Procrustean bed of 
scholastic or parental rule. No farmer plants his 
celery and potatoes in the same spot, and expects it 
to bear good fruit. Some vegetables he shields from 
the rude touch, the rough wind, the blazing sun ; he 
knows that each requires different and appropriate 
nurture, according to its capacities. Should they 
who have the care of the immortal be less wise ? 

" You have too much imagination, you should try 
to crush it out," was said many years ago to the 
writer, in her school-days, by one who should have 
known that " He who seeth the end from the begin- 
ning," bestows no faculty to be " crushed out ;" that 
this very faculty it is which has placed the writer, 
at this moment, beyond the necessity of singing, 
like so many of her sex, the weary " Song of the 
Shirt" 



One request I would make of every mother. 
Make your " nursery " pleasant. Never mind about 
your " parlor," hut is your nursery a cheerful place f 
Is there anything there upon the wall for little eyes 
to look at, and little minds to think about when they 



306 Folly as it Flies, 

wake so early in the morning; or as they lounge 
about when a stormy day keeps them close prison- 
ers? If not, see to it without delay. Don't say I 
" can't afford it ;" one shilling — two shillings will do 
it ; if you can spare a few shillings more, so much 
the better. You know the effect a bright, cheerful 
apartment has upon yourself, even with all your 
mature resources for thought and pleasure. Think 
then of the little children, reaching out their young 
thoughts, like vine tendrils, for something to twine 
about, something to lean on, something to grow to, 
— ^in fine, something to think and talk about. A 
blank, white wall is not suggestive or inspiriting. 
Give the little nursery prisoner something bright to 
look at. Can that be called " a trifle " which makes 
home attractive ? We think not. Therefore we like 
flowering plants in windows. There are some 
houses which make us feel as though we were on 
friendly terms with the inmates, through these cheer- 
ful, mute tokens. Mute ! did T say ? Have our 
past lives been so barren of incident that the per- 
fume of a flower never brought before us some bright 
face, or loved form, which has made life for us bless- 
ed? You must have felt it — and you and you\ I 
am sure of it Just such a rose as that you have 
'' seen in her hair ;" and you sit dreamily looking 
at it, as it sways gracefully on the stem ; and you 
wonder what the dear child, so many hundred miles 
away, is thinking of now ; and whether her full- 
blossomed life has fulfilled its budding prom- 
ise. And that reminds you how the whirlpool of 



Mistakes obout our Children, 807 

life's cares and duties has almost engulfed these sweet 
memories ; and resolutely turning your back upon 
them all, you sit down and write a warm heart-letter^ 
which comes to her in her distant home, like a white- 
winged dove at the window of a dreary winter day. 
And all this came of the little rose in your window ; 
the old love wakened in your heart, and the gladness 
to hers! 

Eloquent ? If flowers are not eloquent, who or 

whal is ? Then, why are so many withered leaves 
put away with bright tresses and pressed passionate- 
ly to lonely lips, whose quivering no eye sees save 
His " who wounds but to heal ?" Eloquent? Could 
mines of gold buy them ? This was twined in her 
bridal veil; that was laid upon her coffin-lid. No 
fingers but yours may touch the shrivelled treasures. 
For her sake you have placed their blossoming coun- 
terparts in your window. You shut your eyes 
when you go near them, that their perfume may 
seem her very breath. 

Eloquent? Why does the old man stoop, and 
with trembling fingers pick the daisy or violet, and 
place them in his button-hole ? Don't question him 
about it when strangers are by. It is the key to his 
whole life — that little flower. 

" My mother liked primroses," the matron says to 
her little child ; and so they blossom in her home as 
they did, many years ago, in the sunny nursery- win- 
dow of her childhood. Ah, these "mothers!" 
whose " rights," guaranteed by the Great Law-giver, 
nor statute makers, nor statute breakers can weaken 
or set aside. Long years after they are dust, shall 



308 Folly as it Flies. 

some little blossom thej loved be placed in a bosom 
which yearns nnceastngly, over and above every 
other human love, for her who gave it these warm 
pulsations. Blessed be these memorials of "the 
long ago I" 



There is a class of mothers, easy mothers, who 
lose much time by not finding time for imperative 
duties. We wish it were possible to persuade some 
of them, who are 'otherwise most excellent mothers 
— how much trouble they would save themselves, 
by exercising a little firmness toward their young 
children. Of course it takes more time to contest a 
point with a child, than to yield it; and a busy 
mother not reflecting that this is not for once, but 
for thousands of future times, and to rid herself of 
importunity, says wearily — " yes — yes — you may do 
it f when all the while she knows it to be wrong 
and most injurious to the child. Then there comes 
a time when she must say ISTo ! and the difficulty of 
enforcing it, at so late a period of indulgence, none 
can tell but " easy " mothers of self-willed children. 
For your own sahes^ then, mothers, if you have not 
the fiiture good of your children at heart ; for your 
own sakes — and to save yourselves great trouble in 
the future, learn to say No — and take time to enforce 
it. Let everything else go, if necessary, because this 
contest mu^t be fought out, successfully, with every 
separate child ; and remember once fought it is done 
with forever. When we see mothers, day by day, 
worried — harassed, worn out by ceaseless teasings 



Mistakes about our Children 309 

and importunities, all for want of a little firmness at 
the outset, we know not whether to be more sorry 
or angry. 

Again : some mothers are- so busy about the tem- 
poral wants of their children that they are wholly 
unacquainted with them spiritually. You are very 
careful of your daughter's dress ; you attend person- 
ally to its purchase and fit. You go with her to see 
that her foot is nicely gaitered ; and you give your 
milliner special instructions as to the make and 
becomingness of her bonnets ; but do you ever ask 
yourself, what she is thinhing about f In other 
words, do you know anything at all of her inner 
life? Many who are esteemed most excellent 
mothers, are as« ignorant on this all-important point 
as if they had never looked upon their daughters* 
faces. They exact respectful obedience, and if the 
young creature yields it, and has no need of a 
physician's immediate services, they consider their 
duty done, Alas, what a fatal mistake I These are 
the mothers, who, never having invited the confi- 
dence of those young hearts, live to see it bestowed 
anywhere and everywhere but in accordance with 
their wishes. Is it,, can it be enough to a mother 
worthy the name, to be satisfied that her daughter's 
physical wants are cared for? "What of that yearn- 
ing, hungry soul, that is casting about, here and 
there, for something to satisfy its questionings ? Oh, 
give a thought sometimes to this. When she sits 
there by the fire, or by the window, musing, sit 
down by her, and love her thoughts out of her. Cast 



310 Folly as it Flies, 

that fatal " dignity " or indifference to the winds, 
whicli has come between so many young creatures 
and the heart to which they should lie nearest in 
these important forming years. " Eespect " is good 
in its place ; but when it freezes up your daughter's 
soul-utterances ; when it sends her for sympathy and 
companionship to chance guides, what then? A 
word, a loving, kind word, at the right moment ! 
No mind can over-estimate its importance. Ee- 
member this, when you see the sad wrecks of woman- 
hood about you ; and amid the sweeping waves of 
life's cares and life's pleasures, what else soever you 
neglect, do not fail to know what that young 
daughter of yours is thinking about. 



Ho*w strong sometimes is weakness ! "When a 
very young child loses its mother, before it has yet 
learned to syllable her name, we are generally struck 
with pity at what we call its " helpless condition ;" 
and yet, after all, its apparent helplessness is at once 
its strength and shield ; for is not every kind heart 
about it immediately drawn toward it in love and 
sympathy ? Do not the touch of its soft hand, its 
pretty flitting smile, the " cuddlesome " leaning of 
the little head, the trustful innocence of its eyes, do 
more for it, than could all the eloquence of Demos- 
mosthenes ? I was struck with the truth of this not 
long since, upon going into a shop to make a 
purchase, where I found the young girl who 
usually waited there, with a little babe in charge, 



Mistakes about our Children, 811 

whose mother had just died. Looking about the 
shop, and remarking the many calls upon her time 
and attention, as she moved quickly around with this 
pretty little burden upon her arm, I said, this child 
must be a great care for you. Yes, said she ; but 
oh, such a comfort^ too. And so playing with the 
baby and talking the while, I learned that before its 
mother died, it was taken in every night for her to 
kiss it, before it was put to sleep. After the moth- 
er's funeral, as the young girl was passing through 
that room with it, the little creature stretched out its 
hands toward the empty bed .for the accustomed hiss f 
Tears stood in her eyes, as she again kissed the 
baby. I knew now how it was that the " comfort " 
outweighed the ^'' care^ No voice from the spirit- 
land could so effectually and solemnly have bound 
up her future with that orphan baby as that mute 
reaching out of its loving aims to that empty bed. 
Now had that young girl a soul for labor ; a motive 
for living. Now there was something to repay toil. 
Something for her to love — something to love her. 
Every customer who came in, was so much toward 
a subsistence for little Annie. Ah, the difference 
between plodding on for cold duty's sake, and work- 
ing with one's heart in it ! The little shop looked 
bright as heaven, that cold November afternoon, 
and I went out of it, wondering what people could 
mean when they spoke of ^^ infant helplessness f^ 
since all New York might have failed to do for that 
little one, what it had accomplished for itself by that 
one unconscious, touching little action. 



THOUGHTS ON SOME EVERT BAY TOPICS. 




OMEl^ boarders are often called trouble- 
some ; but it must be remembered tbat all 
a man wants of bis room is to sleep and 
dress in, but it is a woman's home ; and alas ! often 
all she bas. She would not he a woman did sbe not 
desire to make it tidy and habitable. This — her 
landlady contracts to do. The fruitless ringings for 
fresh-water, towels, coal, lights and a clean carpet — 
and she is not allowed to go down stairs after them 
herself — are not unknown to any woman who has 
worn life out in boarding-houses. It is not, as I 
remarked, in the nature of a woman to be comforta- 
ble in Babel ; nor does its owner fancy a cloud of 
dust, raised in the middle of the day, upon her 
nicely smoothed hair, or clean collar, because the 
chambermaid has an appointment with John, the 
waiter, in the entry, or because she enjoys lolling out 
the front window on her elbows an hour in every 
room she is " righting," instead of attending promptly 
to her business, and getting through with it 

Now, man is by nature an unclean animal. I 
doubt if he would ever wash his face, were there no 
women about who would refuse to Mss him if he 
didn't Well — he clears a hole in the middle of his 



Some Every-day Topics, 813 

room, and gets ready for breakfast ; whicli lie swal- 
lows, and then bolts through the front-door, (dining 
down town,) not to return again till evening. What 
possible difference, then, does it make to him, 
whether his bed be made, and his room swept at ten 
o'clock in the morning, or fonr in the afternoon? 
His home is in the restaurant, in the store, in the 
street, anywhere and everywhere, that temptation 
and inclination may lead him ; four walls don't 
bound his vision. He can afford to be philosophical 
about brooms and dust-pans. 

But let Biddy take them into his counting-room. 
Let him stand round on one leg while she — having 
moved his desk and displaced his ledgers and 
papers, preparatory -to a sweep — runs out into the 
street half an hour, under pretence of getting a 
broom, to gossip with an acquaintance. Let him, 
getting impatient, sit down in the midst of the hub- 
bub, and drawing up . his inkstand, commence 
writing. Let Biddie re-enter, just as he gets under 
way, with a frisk of that wretched, long-handled 
duster, which tosses on more dust than she ever 
takes off. Let him rise again and make way for 
her, and then — ^let her bob off again — after a little 
water, and stay another half hour, — and all the 
while the merciless clock ticking on, and the per- 
spiration standing on his forehead at this unnecessary 
waste of his time and temper, and the -work - he 
hasnH done, and let Biddy repeat this in that count- 
ing-room, to that man, every morning in the year, 
14 



314 Folly as it Flies, 

(365 mornings). How long do you suppose lie 
would stand that? 

Well, that's just what women in boarding-houses 
have to put up with. That's why they are trouble- 
some. That's why they can't help it. That's why 
landladies like men who live everywhere but in their 
rooms, and who, provided their mattress is not put 
in their washbowl, and the ends of their cigars are 
not broken by the landlady's little boy, give her 
carte blanche as to dirt and other luxuries. 

On the other hand I acknowledge that a man- 
boarder eats four times as much as a woman, and 
often keeps his landlady waiting weeks to have her 
bill paid, if indeed he ev^er pays it. Then he tum- 
bles up stairs at midnight in an oblivious condition, 
thumping against all the doors as he goes, frighten- 
ing the single women into fits, and waking up hap- 
less babies, to drain the last drop of the milk of 
motherly kindness ? Then he brings his comrades 
home to dinner or to tea, and expects his poor strug- 
gling landlady to omit all mention of the same when 
she makes out her bill? Then, notwithstanding 
this, he sniffs at the eggs, cracks stale jokes on the 
chickens ; rails at the beef, looks daggers into the 
coffee-cup, and holds his supercilious nose when the 
butter is too near ; and by many other gentlemanly 
tokens shows the poor widow, whose husband once 
would not let the wind blow roughly on her, that he 
will grind her and her children down to the last 
fraction, that he may spend it on cigars and drinks, 
while the gray hairs gather thickly on her temples, 



Some Every-day Topics, 315 

and she goes to sleep every niglit with a " God help 
me," on her lips. 



It is a self-evident fact, that all women are not 
ladies, in the best sense of the word ; i. e. by virtue 
of behavior, not dress ; no donbt landladies as well 
as others have often discovered this. It is very easy 
to tell " a lady " by the standard of behavior. Ten 
women shall get into an omnibus, and though we 
never saw one of them before, we shall select you 
the time lady. She does not titter when a gentleman, 
handing up her fare, knocks off his hat, or pitches it 
awry over his nose ; nor does she receive her 
"change," after this inconvenient act of gallantry, in 
grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade there 
to be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewelry, nor 
rose-tinted gloves ; but the lace frill round her face 
is scrupulously fresh, and the strings under her chin 
have evidently been handled only by dainty fingers. 
She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one ; 
nor does she draw off her dark, neatly-fitting glove 
to .display ostentatious rings. Still we notice, 
nestling in -the straw beneath us, such a trig little 
boot, not paper-soled, but of an anti-consumption 
thickness; the bonnet upon her head is plain, 
simply trimmed, for your true lady never wears full- 
dress in an omnibus. She is quite as civil to the 
poorest as to the richest person who sits beside 
her, and equally regardful of their rights. If she 
attracts attention, it is by the unconscious grace of 



316 Folly as it Flies, 

her person and manner, not by tlie ostentation of her 
dress. We are quite sorry when she pulls the strap 
and disappears. We saw a lady do a very pretty 
thing the other morning. Our omnibus was nearly 
full of ladies, going down town, when quite an 
elderly man slowly mounted the steps, and clam- 
bered in, taking a seat by the door. The lady next 
him, observing him take out his fare, smilingly 
extended her hand to the venerable man, passed the 
money up to the driver, and returned the change. 
It was a little thing, but, oh, how lovely 1 more par- 
ticularly, as the old man's hat was shabby, his coat 
seedy, and he had every mark of poverty about him. 
That woman will make a good wife, said we, and 
we had half a mind to ask her address, for the ben- 
efit of some young man ; only that we reflected that 
unless her vui^ues ware backed by "a fortune," they 
might possibly go a-begging. 



The "term" lady has been so misused, that I like 
better the old-fashioned term, woman. I sometimes 
think the influence of a good woman greater than 
that of a good man. There are so many avenues to 
the human heart left open to her gentle approach, 
which would be instantly barred up at the sound of 
rougher footsteps. One may tell anything to a good 
woman. In her presence pride sleeps or is disarmed. 
The old child-feeling comes back upon the world- 
weary man, and he knows not why he has reposed 
the unsought confidence which has so lightened his 



So7ne Every-day Topics, 317 

heart. "Wliy lie goes forth again ashamed that one 
so feeble is so much mightier. Why Ae could doubt 
and despair where she can trust and wait Why he 
could fly from the foe for whose approach she so 
courageously tarries. Why he thinks of the dagger, 
or pistol, or poisoned cup, while she, accepting the 
fierce blast of misfortune* meekly bows her head till 
the whirlwind be overpast, — believing, hoping, know- 
ing that Grod's bright smile of sunshine will break 
through at last 

The world-weary man looks on with wonder, 
reverencing yet not compreheDding. How can he 
comprehend ? He who stands in his pride, with his 
panting soul uncovered, in the scorching Zahara of 
Reason^ and then complains that no dew falls, no 
showers descend, no buds, blossoms, or fruit cheer 
him. How can he who faces with folded arms and 
defiant attitude, comprehend the twining love-clasp 
and satisfied heart-rest which come only of love ? 
Thank Grod, woman is not too proud to take what 
she so much needs. That she does not wait to 
comprehend the Infinite before she can love. That 
she does not plant her foot, and refuse to stir, till her 
guide tells her why he is leading her by this path 
instead of that; and though every foot-print be 
marked with her heart's blood, she does not relax 
her grasp or doubt his faith. 

Well may her glance, her touch, the rustle of her 
garments even, have power to soothe and bless ; 
well may the soft touch of such upon brows knotted 
with the world's strife bring coolness and peace. 



818 Folly as it Flies, 

Oh. woman, be strong-minded as you will, if only 
you be pure and gentle-hearted 



"While on the Woman Question I wish to say 
that my sympathies have always been strongly 
enlisted for female teachers. Of all who go fainting 
by the roadside of life, heart-sore and heart-weary, 
none are more utterly so than the majority of our 
female teachers. A male-teacher is, generally, able 
to overawe the misgoverned young girls committed 
to his charge ; or, if he is not, his tougher organiza- 
tion precludes the possibility of that exquisite degree 
of torture which she endures from it. The female 
teacher must withdraw to her room when the day's 
toil is over, quivering often with nervous excitement, 
worn out, body and spirit, with the struggle for 
daily bread, hungering more for sympathy and a 
kind word than for that ; taking to her dreams the 
rude superciliousness of pupils, spoiled to her hand ; 
the only answer possible to whom has been the burn- 
ing blush of degradation, the suppressed tear or sob. 

I shall be told that there are teachers who abuse 
their trust — mercenary, ungrateful, impervious to 
any moral considerations. Of course, in all profes- 
sions there are those who are better out than in it. 
Plenty who are trying to regulate delicate micro- 
scopic springs with an iron crowbar. Teaching is 
not exempt from its bunglers and charlatans ; but, 
outside of this, there is the long, pale-cheeked pro- 
cession of female teachers, sti'etching out feeble 



Some Every-day Topics. 319, 

Hands from the jostling crowd, trembling lest by 
some unintentional oversight of theirs thej lose the 
approbation of employers, and with it their means 
of subsistence; bearing patiently the petty insults 
of willfulness, of selfishness, of arrogance, all uncom- 
plainingly, day by day, week by week, month by 
month, as the slow years roll on ; nor, is there any 
help for this, as many young people are at present 
educated; when a teacher, though often possessed 
of double the native refinement of the taught, is 
considered by them merely as an upper servant, to 
be quizzed, to be cheated, to be tormented, at every 
possible opportunity ; and with all her earnest and 
conscientious endeavors, to be held responsible for 
the consequences of natural dullness and premedi- 
tated sloth ; and all for the grudging permission to 
keep soul and body together. Many may think this 
an overdrawn picture. Would that it were ! 

Not long since, a young girl apologized to her 
private lady- teacher, for the necessary postponement 
of several lessons, on account of illness. With 
much feeling the teacher answered : " Do not men- 
tion it, I beg. That i§ nothing. That is unavoida- 
ble. Meantime, you are always respectful to me, 
always kind, always polite. You never hurt my 
feelings^ mademoiselle. Some of my pupils are so 
rude, so insolent ; it is very hard to teach such." 
Comment is unnecessary. How " hard " it must be 
for a gentle, refined and educated woman to endure 
these things, my readers can judge. 

If any young girl should read this who has hith- 



320 Folly as it Flies, 

erto supposed tliat money gave her the power to 
treat with disrespect such a person; that money 
could remunerate her for the agony she made her 
endure, let her remember that money sometimes 
takes to itself wings, and that there may come a 
time when, seeking her daily bread, she too may 
hunger for the respectful appreciation she now so 
heedlessly withholds. 

We believe it is generally admitted that a woman 
of even average acquirements can write a better 
letter than a man. We think there are two good 
reasons for this. First, they are not above naiTating 
the little things which bring up a person or a scene 
more vividly to the mind than anything else. They 
write naturally^ as they talk ; while a man takes his 
pen too often in the mood in which he would mount 
a platform to address his " fellow-citizens," using big 
words, and stiltified language. Hence a man's letters 
are for the most part stiff and uninteresting. Com- 
mend us to a woman's letter when information about 
home matters, or any other matters, is really needed. 
In making these remarks, we do not forget a senti- 
mental class of female letter- writers ; they are the 
exceptions, and any one who has patience, may read 
their wordy, idea-less effusions. We cannot Still 
every one of us must remember, when absent, letters 
from some female member of the family, which were 
worth more than all that the collected male intellect 
of the household could furnish. You, and you, and 
you — ^have them now we dare say, stained by time 
and perhaps tears, yet still precious above rubies. 



Some Every-day Topics, 321 

There are sometimes women wlio develop a 
smart business capability wortby of a man ; but as 
a general thing there are few people who speak 
approbativelj of such a woman. Ko matter how 
isolated or destitute her condition, the majority 
would consider it more " feminine," would she unob- 
trusively gather up her thimble, and, retiring into 
some out-of-the-way -place, gradually scoop out her 
coffin with it, than to develop the smart turn for 
business which would lift her at once out of her 
troubles ; and which, in a man so situated, would be 
applauded as exceedingly praiseworthy. The most 
curious part of it is, that they who are loudest in their 
abhorrence of this " unfeminine " trait, are they who 
are the most intolerant of dependent female rela- 
tives. " Anywhere out of the world," would be their 
reply, if applied to by the latter for a straw for the 
drowning. " Do something for yourself," is their ad- 
vice in general terms ; but, above all, you are to do 
it quietly " unobtrusively ; in other words, die as 
soon as you like on sixpence a day, but don't trouble 
usl Of such cold-blooded comfort, in sight of a 
new-made grave, might well be born "the smart 
husiness woman.'''' And, in truth, so it often is. 
Hands that never toiled before, grow rough with 
labor ; eyes that have been tearless for long, happy 
years, drop agony over the slow lagging hours ; feet 
that have been tenderly led and cared for, stumble 
as best they may in the new, rough path of self- 
denial. But out of this bitterness groweth sweet- 
ness. No crust so tough as the grudged hread of de- 



322 Folly as it Flies. 

pendence. Blessed be the " smart business woman " 
who, in a self-sustained crisis like this, after having 
through much tribulation reached the goal, is able 
to look back on the weary track and see the sweet 
flower of faith and trust in her kind still blooming. 



A GOOD honest soul once said that " all she wanted, 
when she got to Heaven, was to put on a clean apron 
and sit still." After all, the idea is more profound 
than fanny. There are times in every housekeeper's 
life when this would be the embodiment of Paradise. 
When the head throbs with planning, contriving, 
and directing ; when every bone aches in the attempt 
to carry the programme into successfal execution; 
when, after having done one's best to draw to a focus 
all the infinitesimal cob-web threads of careful man- 
agement, some new emergency is born of every last 
attempt, till every nerve and muscle cries out, with 
the old woman, for Heaven and a clean apron ! Of 
course, after a period of carefree rest, this earth 
seems after all a very nice place to stay in ; but 
while the fit lasts, no victim of unsuccessful love, 
or of sea-sickness, is more truly deserving of that 
which neither ever get — heartfelt pity. It is well 
that is not the prevailing feeling, else how could we 
all toil and moil, as we do, day after day, for six feet 
of earth to engulf it all at last ! It is well that to 
painstaking mothers and delving fathers, earth seems 
so real. Were it not so, the wheels of this world 
would stick fast, of course. 



Some Every 'day Topics. 323 

The men would liang themselves because there 
are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and 
every morning of all these days, they must button 
their shirt- wristbands. The women would think of 
nine children and one at the breast, and every one 
to be worried through the measles, scarlet fever, 
chicken-pox, and whooping-cough ; while Bridget and 
Betty would incontinently drown themselves at the 
never-ending succession of breakfasts, dinners and 
suppers, to be gobbled up by people constantly ring- 
ing the bell for " more." Heaven and a clean apron ! 
the idea is delicious. Let us hope the old woman 
got it. 



Speaking of Bridget and Betty, let me ask the 
women who read this one question. How do you 
treat your household servants ? " None of my 
business." But it is yours ; and for fear you should 
forget it, I take the liberty to call your attention to 
it. Are they overworked ? underpaid ? indifferently 
fed ? Do you ever give them a holiday ? Do you 
ever lend them a book to read of a leisure evening ? 
Do you ever give them a leisure evening ? Do you 
care for them when they are sick ? Do you remem- 
ber that they, like yourself, have fathers, mothers, 
sisters, brothers, toward whom a good word or kind 
action from you, might be the pivot upon which 
their whole life should turn, for good or evil, joy or 
sorrow ? Perhaps some young girl among them, de- 
pendent and oppressed, despondent and discouraged, 



S24 Folly as it Flies, 

to whose side you might step, and to whose heart 
you might bring that delicious joy, the sense of pro- 
tection^ for the want of which so many despairing 
feet turn astray forever. 

JS'one of my business ? Make it yours, then : for 
a woman's heart beats in your kitchen, — over your 
wash-tub, — over yoTir ironing-table,— down in your 
cellar, — up in your garret A kind word is such a 
little thing to you — so much to her. Your cup is 
go full to overflowing, — hers often so empty, so taste- 
less. And kindness so wings the feet of Duty. 
Think of it 



Theee is one thing that pui^zles me about our 
women who live in the country ; as a general thing 
they might as well, it seems to us, be without feet, 
for all the use they make of them, out of doors. 
We cannot but think they make a mistake in tack- 
ling up old Dobbin to convey them a mile, or a mile 
and a half, as the case may be, to the village store, 
for any little articles of home consumption. Why 
not array themselves in thick shoes fit for rough 
roads, and stir the blood by a little healthfal exer- 
cise ? We do not believe, how active soever their 
indoor occupatioms may be, that they can ever 
entirely supersede this necessity for out-door exercise. 
We have often marvelled, when chance has thrown 
us among them for a few days, at their slavish sub- 
serviency to horse-flesh on every trifling occasion. 
They seem to regard the city visitor's preference for 



Some Every-day Topics, 325 

walking, as a sort of lunacy, harmless perhaps, but 
pitiable. Tbej see '' no object, " in going over tbe 
tbreshold "just for a walk." Well — every one to 
their taste — ^notwithstanding the currents of "fresh 
air " always to be had by every one who lives inside 
a country house, we would not, voluntarily, surren- 
der the privilege of snuffing it outside^ and snuffing 
it on foot^ too. This is our advice to both the 
country and the city wife. • 



Wife I There are no four letters in the language 
expressive of so much that is holy and sweet. 
Wife! that is a word claimable only by one. A 
man can have but one wife^ in a Christian commun- 
ity I That is her proud, undisputed, indisputable, 
title. Let her hold on to it 

The other day we overheard this exclamation. 
That his wife ! and a long sigh, and ominous shake 
of the head followed it The object of this commis- 
seration had "a genius " for a husband. Crowds of 
worshippers had he — male and female, known and 
unknown, declared and silent According to them, 
he never opened his mouth without scattering word- 
pearls. All were desirous to know him ; some 
because they really admired his talent ; many 
because it made them of consequence to be his 
friends. Presents of all kinds were laid at his feet 
and just enough enemies had he to convince the 
most skeptical that he had made a success in the 
world. 



826 Folly as it Flies, 

And that was his wife ! Good gracious ! That 
little, plain, unpretending, quiet body, with, not even 
a '' stylish " air to recommend her ! It was awful. 
Why f — didn't she love him ? Oh, yes ; how could 
she help it? Was she not a good mother to his 
children ? Oh, yes. "Was she not a careful, orderly 
housekeeper ? Oh, yes. Was she not sensible and 
well-informed, and able to take a creditable place as 
conversationalist at his table and fireside ? Oh, yes 
all of that; but he should have had an elegant, 
talented, brilliant wife. No he shouldnH. He has just 
the wife he wants. A practical, common-sense 
woman, proud of her husband in her own demon- 
strative way. Smiling quietly at the world's estimate 
of the unostentatious virtues, which make his home 
a pattern of neatness, order and comfort. Smiling 
quietly, as the conscious possessor of his heart could 
afPord to do, at the meddling short-sightedness which 
would displace her "brilliant, talented woman," 
whom ten to one, even had she good sense with her 
brilliancy he never would like half as well, because 
God has endowed few men with magnanimity enough 
to rejoice in those qualities which make a wife — ^like 
her husband — resourceful and self-reliant. No — no, 
my friends, let them alone. What affair is it of 
yours, if they themselves are content? Ah — ^but 
we won't believe they are content. We presist in 
pitying him. We could pick out twenty splendid wo- 
men with whom he would be better mated. Yery like 
—my dear madame ; — and yourself, first of the twen- 
ty, no doubt I Pshaw I leave him with his patient, 



Some Every-day Topics, 32 7 

quiet, unobtrusive, sensible, good, little, bomely 
wife. "A male genius" — mj sentimental friend 
— likes a good dinner — plenty of hicking room — and 
a wife wlio, if she differs from bim in opinion, won't 
say so. 



A TRIP TO TEE NOBTEEBN LAKES. 

T X TEUST tliat it involves no disloyalty to 
W>^^ Queen Yictoria to dislike Toronto ; it is the 
^%^ last of her Majesty's dominions that I should 
select for a residence. Its tumble-down, dilapidated 
aspect, its almost total absence of adornment in 
architecture, or ornamentation in shrubbery, was, I 
confess, very repelling to me. One excepts, of 
course, what is called the " College Walk," leading 
to the fine new University buildings and grounds, 
consisting of an entire mile of handsome shade trees, 
but alas! a line-and-plummet, undeviating, straight 
mile, innocent of the faintest suspicion of a curve. 
Still, on the pleasant afternoon we walked there, we 
enjoyed it, as well as the sight of the crowd, dressed 
in holiday attire, sauntering past us. I saw no 
beauty in their faces, but a look of jolly health, 
which, to my eye, was quite as pleasing. The 
young girls, perhaps, looked a trifle too theatrical, 
in the little straw crowns of hats without brim, a 
large ostrich feather being curled over the forehead, 
instead This head-dress, worn with quite ordinary 
dresses, seemed to me incongruous, and not in good 
taste ; but one forgives much to a sunny, bright 
face, and this would be a very monotonous world, 
were all individuality destroyed. It struck me that 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 329 

tliere was an immense niimber of sixteen-year-old 
young girls in Toronto ; perhaps their mothers and 
aunts don't go out, or they may be youthful mothers 
and aunts — ^who knows? It struck me, too, that 
the Torontonians enjoyed themselves ; every face 
wearing a smiling, care-free expression, rare to meet 
in larger places ; so, if they Kke their pigs to run 
loose in the street, who shall say them nay, provided 
they don't trip up the Prince of Wales ? 

It was funny to see the " beadle " standing in the 
cathedral porch on Sunday morning, with his scarlet 
cloth collar and pompous air. If he had the usual 
cocked hat belonging to his offi.ce, I didn't see it, 
but he found us a good seat, and I trust we prayed 
for " the Queen and Prince " after the minister, with 
as much zeal as any of her subjects. The church 
service was indeed the best part of the performance, 
the sermon being very harmless and rigidly respecta- 
ble. Perhaps that was the reason my thoughts 
wandered to a lad of twelve or thirteen near by, who 
was starched up in a white cravat, and dressed like 
his grandfather. There were some stylish equipages 
round the church door as we came out, and many 
that were not stylish, but seemed comfortable enough 
for all that. If I thought Toronto rather a " slow " 
place, the fault may be in my quicksilver tempera- 
ment, which sent me off by railroad through the 
backwoods to Detroit, after one day's sojourn in it. 
Ah I that I liked I Those grand old woods, those 
primeval trees, towering and stately as "cedars of 
Lebanon ;" those log-huts with the bronzed mother 



330 Folly as it Flies, 

standing in the door-waj, and a group of rosy little 
children about her; the woodman near by, resting 
on his axe at the sound of the shrieking whistle, all 
unconscious how pretty a picture he and his were 
making. And so on, for miles and miles, through 
that bright day, we never wearied of gazing till the 
sun went down. When it rose again it found us in 
Detroit, and quite as comfortably settled as we 
could have been in the best hotel in New York. 
Breakfast, and then a carriage to see the place. De- 
troit will do. There are flowers in Detroit ; there 
are pretty gardens and vine-festooned windows ; they 
make good coffee in Detroit, and grow peaches, or at 
any rate sell them — which answered my purpose just 
as well Some of the streets and buildings are very 
pretty. There are funny little market carts, similar 
to those one sees in Quebec, driven about by women 
who sell apples, beans and potatoes. There are 
plenty of stores there, and civil salesmen. One need 
not cut his throat in Detroit, said I, as we took a 
farewell glance from the deck of the propeller, on 
which we were to glide up Lake St. Clair. It seems 
so strange that people will go, year after year, 
through the tiresome monotony of watering-place 
life; the same unvarying, uninteresting round of 
dressing and dancing, when a tour of a week or 
more on our Northern Lakes would be so soul-sat- 
isfying and healthful. It must be that many of 
them only need reminding of its superior advantages, 
and the ease and comfort with which so many hun- 
dred miles maybe traversed, to undertake it. But 



A 



Trip to the Northern Lakes, 831 



to enjoy it, it must be done on tlie riglit principle. 
If a woman, you are not to dress up, and, striking 
an attitude in tlie ladies' saloon, take out that ever- 
lasting crocliet-work, with which so many women 
martyrize themselves and their friends, to pass the 
time. You are to array yourself in a rough-and-tum- 
ble-dress, with the plainest belongings ; then you 
are prepared to scramble up on the upper deck, to 
promenade there and look about ; or go into the 
wheel-house and ask questions of the jolly, gallant 
captain ; or go " down below " and see emigTant life, 
among the steerage passengers ; or, when the boat 
stops to take in coal or freight, to jump out on the land- 
ing, and make your way, through boxes and barrels, up 
into the town during the brief half-hour stay of the 
boat. You are to do anjrthing of this kind that a mod- 
est, dignified, independent woman may always do, 
without regard to Mrs. Grrundy, or her numerous des- 
cendants on sea and shore. That's the way to make 
the Northern Lake trip. 



Eleven days without a newspaper! and yet we 
ate, and drank, and slept, and grew fat, as our boat 
carried us farther and farther from all knowledge of 
the "horrid disclosures," and "startling develop- 
ments " of fast Grotham. We were blissfully ignor- 
ant how many men choked, poisoned, and were 
otherwise attentive to their wives, during those 
bright days when we sat on deck, basking in the 
sun, with our fascinated gaze fixed upon the bright 



832 Folly as it Flies. 

foam-track, or upon the sea-gulls, that, with untiring 
wing, followed us hundreds of miles, now and then 
laving their snowj breasts in the blue waves ; or, as 
we gladly welcomed the smaller, friendly birds, that 
flew into the cabin windows, and fluttered about the 
ceiling, as if glad to see new faces in their trackless 
homes. "We were ignorant — and contented to be — 
during this tranquil period, of "mass-meetings," and 
*' barbecues," and "pugilistic encounters," and 
scrambles for office, the baptismal name of which is 
" patriotism." Meanwhile the fresh wind blew on 
our bronzed faces, and we glided past lovely green 
islands, on which Autumn had hung out, here and 
there, her signal flag, warning us — spite of the 
pleasant breeze — ^not to linger too long where the 
fierce winds would soon come to lash the waves to 
more than old Ocean's fury. "Who could dream it, 
" with the blue above and the blue below," and we 
so gently rocked and cradled ? Who could believe 
it — that heavenly evening, when we watched the sun 
sink beneath the waves on one side of us, as the 
moon rose majestically out of them on the other, 
while before us the beautiful island of " The Great 
Spirit," was set like like an emerald in the sapphire 
sea ? Now and then an Indian in his fragile canoe, 
with a blanket for a sail, gave us rough welcome in 
passing. How could we realize on that balmy evening, 
that for eight months in the year, he saw those green 
pines covered with snow, or that he guided huge 
dogs to carry the mail, through paths accessible only 
to Indian feet, or that spring and autumn were there 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 333 

almost HI] known, so rapidly did winter and summer, 
with their intense heat and cold, succeed each other. 
Entranced and spell-bound we asked. Can it ever be 
dreary here ? Hark ! to that sound of music, as 
another boat, homeward bound, plashes past us, 
with its living freight. One moment and away I 
Heaven send them safety ! And now picturesque 
little huts are dotted in and out among the trees, 
along the line of shore, and the solemn mysteries of 
life and death go on there too. And now, as if 
every illuminated page in Nature's book were to be 
turned for us, flashes up the Aurora ! in long, quiv-* 
ering lines of light, — rose-color and silver — till earth, 
sea and sky are ablaze with glory 1 Oh, let us go 
home and gather together all who love us, (this boat 
would more than hold them,) and let us always live 
on these waters, said I ; such nice, quiet sleep in the 
cosy little state-rooms where one cannot lose any- 
thing, because there is no room to lose it ; and then 
the pleasant surprise of the new landing-places with 
their Frenchy-Indian names, and the strange but 
friendly faces on the pier ; the mines too, to explore 
in this rich country, often held by residents in the 
old world ; oh, you may be sure, even without 
Broadway, there would be no lack of excitement on 
these Lakes, no more than there would be lack of 
culture, refinement and intelligence among their 
residents ; for it must needs be men of mark who are 
the pioneers in these wildernesses ; men who will 
stand strong as do its rocks, when the waves of dis- 
couragement dash against them, waiting the lull of 



334 Folly as it Flies. 

winds and storms, for the fore-ordained sunsliine of 
prosperity. There are women ^ too, here ; not flounced 
and be-gemmed and useless, but bright-ejed and fair- 
browed, for all that, and loving appreciatively the 
wild, grand beauty of these lakes and woods, even 
when laggard Winter holds them ice-bouud, Nor 
need the traveller be surprised, on stepping ashore, to 
find here a large, well-appointed hotel, with a bill of 
fare no epicure need despise, especially when the 
far-famed fish of these regions is set before him. 

The Indian, when asked to work, points signifi- 
cantly, and with characteristic nonchalance, to the 
lake for his answer ! Spite of the poets, I found no 
beauty among these people, save in the bright eyes 
of one little child, who was playing outside the door 
of a wigwam, on the shore of that lovely Sault Eiver, 
so rich in its clustering islands, so beautiful with its 
foaming rapids ; miniaturing those of Niagara. The 
Indians dart over and about these rapids in their 
egg-shell boats with startling fearlessness. I am 
sorry to inform you, by the way, that the " nymph- 
like Indian maid'^ wears a hoop ! In this vicinity — 
for one instant — I wished that I were a squaw ; par- 
ticularly as she was a chief's widow, and was being 
rowed in a pretty canoe by fourteen Indians, whose 
voices "kept tune as their oars kept time." A 
nearer inspection of her opulent ladyship might have 
disinclined me to the exchange, but at that distance, 
as her picturesque little canoe safely coquetted with 
the foaming, sparkling rapids, her position seemed 
enchanting. 



A Trip to the Northern Laks, 336 

Homeward bound ! and now we must leave all 
these beautiful scenes, and say Farewell to the kind 
faces which greeted us so many happy " good morn- 
ings" and "good nights." There are mementoes 
now before me : mignonnette from the bright-eyed 
girl of " Marquette ;" specimens of " ore " from " the 
Doctor," of sterling value as himself; and recollec- 
tions of at least one member of the press, glad, like 
ourselves, to escape from pen and ink. Ah! who 
has not hated to say Farewell ? 

" "We must come again next summer," said we all 
— so said the Captain. 

Ah I the poor Captain. My eyes fill — ^my heart 
aches, as if I had known him years, instead of those 
few bright, fairy days. Poor Captain Jack Wilson, 
with his handsome, sunshiny face, cheery voice, and 
manly ways ! How little I thought there' would be 
no " next summer " for him, when he so kindly 
helped me up on the hurricane deck, and into the 
cosy little pilot-house, to look about; who was 
always sending me word to come " forward," or 
" aft," because he knew I so much enjoyed seeing all 
beautiful things ; who was all goodness, all kindness, 
and yet, in a few hours after we left him, found a 
grave in that cruel surf I 

The afternoon of the day we had said our last 
"Good-bye" to him, on the Chicago pier; we had 
taken a carriage to drive round the city, and reined 
up at the "draw," for a boat to pass through.. It" 
was the ^'^ Lady Elgin^'* going forth to meet her 
doom I "We kissed our hands gaily to her in the 



386 Folly as it Flies, 

bright sunsliine " for auld lang sjne," and that. night, 
as we slept safelj in onr beds at the hotel, that brave 
heart, with a wailing babe prest to it, had only that 
treacherous raft between him and eternity. The 
poor captain I How can we give him up ? As his 
strong arm sustained the helpless on that fearful 
night, may Grod support his own gentle ones, or whom 
our hearts ache, in this their direst need. 



I NEVER fancied going up and down stairs, nor did 
I like to see only the ankles of the Chicago people 
on a level with the carriage windows, while riding 
through their streets. How any mortal gets about 
those breakneck localities in the evening, with the 
present insufficient means of illumination, (I except 
of course, the lighting of the principal thoroughfare,) 
I am at a loss to conjecture. I advise all young 
doctors to emigrate to Chicago ; stumbling strangers 
at least must yield them a rich harvest. Having 
lightened my conscience on this point, I wish to add 
that T was delighted with Chicago ; delighted with 
the fine architectural taste displayed in the new 
buildings already finished and in process of build- 
ing. I very much admired one of the churches in 
Michigan Avenue, composed of variegated stone. 
Some of the private residences may safely challenge 
competition with any in Kew York, on the score of 
magnificence. The principal stores are narrow, but 
of an immense length, and full of choice goods ; 
they only differ from ours of the same class, in the 



A Trip to the Northern Lvkes, 837 

fact that a little of everything may be purchased in 
emh one; instead of the usual "dry goods" limita- 
tion. Eeligion and tobacco seem to be the staple 
products of Chicago ; the shops for the sale of the 
latter, having a wonderful prominence and attractive- 
ness, and as to churches, their name is legion. The 
handsome mammoth hotel now being built, we only 
hoped might be monopolized by the landlord who 
made our stay so comfortable. 

Notwithstanding a persistent rain, our ride through 
alternate woods and prairies, from Chicago to 
Cleveland was quite delightful. The luxuriance of 
vegetation was a constant source of pleasure to me. 
There were giant trees, festooned with wild vines, and 
beautiful spikes of purple and yellow flowers, tanta- 
lizing my itching fingers as we shot past ; the cars 
always stopping, of course, where nothing but " Gro- 
ceries " was to be seen, except in one instance, where 
" Groceries and Boarding " made a pleasing variety. 
Quantities of prairie-hens fluttered out of the long 
grass, as we passed, safe enough from any gunpowder 
tendencies of mine, while wonderfully prolific fam- 
ilies of spotted pigs " took their time " to pay atten- 
tion to our shrieking whistle. Abundance^ indeed, 
seemed to be written on everything, even to the jetty 
coronal of hair on the head of a young, barefooted 
girl of eighteen, who, alas ! was smoking a long-nine 
in the doorway of her log-hut. I dare say, though, 
that the poor thing did it in self-defence, as I am 
convinced all women in this country will be obliged 
to — sooner or later, — as men grow more and more 
15 



838 Folly as it Flies, 

selfisTi in regard to the tobacco-nuisance, the churcheH 
at present being the only place where one is sure of 
escaping it, and I am expecting every Sabbath to see 
the " curling incense " rise there. 

Political meetings had been held that day, all 
along our route, and a great multitude of the un- 
washed, uncombed, and, for all I could see, un- 
shirted men, entered the cars at the various stopping- 
places, shaking the rain from their manes like so 
many shaggy Newfoundlands ; *' fust-rate fellows " 
— fearful at spitting and the quill-toothpick exercise I 
— evidently unused to the curly specimen of female, 
judging by the looks of blank astonishment with 
which they regarded — open-mouthed — ^your humble 
servant. Of course, we did not see a "rolling 
prairie " on this route ; however, as we had just 
done a little extra " rolling " on Lake Superior, 
perhaps it was as well deferred till another summer. 

There is no person who has such rigid "go-to- 
meetin " ideas^, of propriety, according to her own 
formula of expounding it, as your countrywoman 
who seldom'ventures beyond the smoke of her own 
chimney ; I had the misfortune to shock one irre- 
trievably by transferring from one of our scrambling 
way -station dinners an ear of corn, upon which to 
regale at my leisure in the cars. If eyes turned 
inside out, in holy horror could have moved me, then 
would that ear of corn never been eaten ; but alas I 
I was both hungry and independent, and Mrs. 
Grundy could only turn her back and weep over one 
more unfortunate, lost to all sense of decorum. A 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 339 

little salt however, with one's corn, is not amiss ; so I 
to lived chronicle it 

It would, and did, keep on raining till we reached 
Cleveland, at ten on Saturday evening". On the fol- 
lowing Monday, unfortunately for belated travellers, 
was to take place the inaugaration of the Perry mon- 
ument, to which all the country for miles round were 
flocking, not to mention any number of military 
companies and strangers from a distance, bound on 
the same patriotic errand. Every hotel, and even 
private residences, ^^e crammed to the last possible 
extent ; this, of course, we did not know till our 
trunks were dumped on the wet sidewalk, and the 
hackman had made his grinning exit. Ladies, wet, 
hungry ladies, sat eying each other like vampires, 
(bless 'em!) in the hotel parlors, while despairing 
cavaliers, brothers, lovers and husbands, mopped 
their damp brows in the halls, after vain appeals to 
demented landlords, who had turned billiard tables 
into couches, and shutters into cots. These agonized 
fair ones, at each fresh disappointment, could only 
ejaculate, faintly, "Grood gracious, wTiat's to be 
done?" as they flattened their noses against the 
window-panes, and took one more look into the 
muddy, streets ; and another train yet to arrive at 
that late hour, with four hundred more moist, hungry 
wretches ! Thanks, then, to the landlord, who im- 
mediately turned, for us, his own private parlor into 
a bed -room, and surrounded us with every possible 
comfort. 

The sun shone out brilliantly on Monday upon 



340 Folly as it Flies. 

the beautiful city of Cleveland, swarming witli red 
coatSj and rustics, and civilians, to see the statue, of 
which they may well be proud, both on account of 
its intrinsic merit, and because it is the work of a 
native artist. It stands conspicuously in "Olive 
Park," its fine proportions in beautiful relief against 
the dense foliage. We saw Cleveland in holiday 
attire, it is true, but apart from that it impressed me 
most agreeably, with its gigantic shade trees and 
pretty streets and gardens. It is said that women 
surrender their hearts easily to a military uniform. 
If so, it is because it stands to them as an indorse- 
ment of the wearer's bravery and chivalry, qualities 
in men which all women adore. I must confess, at 
any rate, to the pleasure of looking on a large, well 
filled hall of red-coats, at dinner, in our hotel, the 
evening before we left The " wait — a — a — ^h — s," to 
be sure, seemed of the flying-artillery order, but 
even they seemed to take a glorified pleasure in 
wearing out shoe-leather in such service ! Truth to 
tell, the inevitable suit of solemn black worn by the 
universal American masculine in this country, is 
getting monotonous. I noticed, speaking of this, 
that every countryman who came to the show had 
caught the infection, and had apparelled himself in 
the same sacerdotal manner, although a suit of that 
color is not only uglier and more expensive than 
any other, but looks infinitely worse when dusty 
or worn. Who shall arise to deliver our American 
male population fi:om this funereal frenzy. 



'A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 341 

If our entrance to Clevelandjnst before the Perrj 
celebration was fraught with peril, our exit, on the 
daj after, was a little more so. The wise ones fore- 
seeing the rush, anticipated it ; the unwise, among 
whom we were of course numbered, slept on it, and 
started on the following morning, just as if nothing 
had happened. As a natural consequence, when we 
reached the depot with our baggage there was scarcely 
even standing-room, either in the long train of cars 
just leaving, or in those preparing to do so. Now it 
is bad enough to get up and put on jour clothes 
inside out by gas-light. It is still worse to eat, not 
because you have an appetite, but for fear you shall 
have, but after being " put through '^ this expe- 
rience, and taking a last shivering farewell of the 
warm bed, where you should have "cuddled" for 
hours, to crawl into a dark car, in a dismal depot, 
and tumble over women who are already seated on 
portmanteaus on the car floor, and find barely a 
place to stand, why it is trying ? Not the whis- 
pered consolation — "wait till the light shines into the 
car, and youHl have a seat fast enough," (from a male 
friend, well versed in railroad travel, from a mascu- 
line point of view) consoled me for the weary five 
minutes I poised on one foot, at that early hour, 
with not a hook to hang my basket or my hopes on. 
Good fortune came at the end of that time, through 
annexation, in the shape of two more cars, into one 
of which I was hurried, with a haste more necessary 
than decorous. Ominous muttering of "half an 
hour behind time," met my ear, from male mal-con- 



342 Folly as it- Flies, 

tents. Happy in tlie possession of a seat at last, and 
tlioroaghly disgusted with such " hot haste " at day- 
light. I faintly remarked that I should be content, 
did they not pull my seat from under me, to sit 
there till doomsday. It is not the first time I've 
made a rash remark : ne^^?e-rash this turned out I 
But how was I — a woman — ^to know that " half an 
hour behind time," meant " no right to the road ?" 
that it meant subservience to freight trains arid 
every other train, from seven o'clock that morning, 
to seven that blessed evening ? — that it meant, we 
were to sit weary hours and half-hours at a time, in 
some Sahara of a country road, sucking our thumbs 
because there was nothing else to suck ; the previous 
overcrowded train having, like locusts, devoured not 
" every green thing," alas ! but every other muncha- 
ble edible? How did I know that, to crown the 
horror, the rain would pour down in torrents at just 
those compulsory stopping times, thus cutting us off 
even from the poor consolation of stretching our 
limbs ? How did I know, when I madly rejected 
transporting food from the hotel, that a branch of 
" rum-cherries " from the hill-side, would be my 
only bill of fare on that road ? Ah, the babies on 
that train had the best of it, on the dinner question ! 
I borrowed one, and played with it awhile, not with 
any cannibal ideas, though it was wonderfully 
plump. A strange gentleman who had strayed off 
into the woods while we were waiting, came in and 
graciously offered me " a posy for my baby ;" I 
glanced at the mother ; her eye was on me ! so I 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 343 

replied as I took tlie posj, " It is not my baby, it is 
borrowed, sir ;" wMcb was a pity, for it really was 
a miraculous bit of baby-flesb ! 

Meantime, as there was no food for tbe body, and 
no prospect of any, till evening, I tried to improve 
my mind by listening, to tbe conversation of two old 
farmers near, by which. I learned how to choose " a 
caow ;" and how, even with the greatest caution, the 
buyer may be awfully taken in on the milk ques- 
tion ; also I learned " how to treat medder land," and 
"how to keep them skippers from getting into 
cheese ;" after which, I heard the speaker's touching 
experience, in escaping, after many year's captivity, 
from the thraldom of king Tobacco — which came 
about in this wise : that " when his woman did him 
up a clean shirt, the bosom would allers be spiled 
after the first mouthfiil ;" also '^ that his neighbors' 
wimmen-folks, didn't like to have their carpets 
spotted up, and were not overglad to see him come 
into their houses, on that account ; and so it came 
that he got disgusted with himself, and giv it up 
altogether ; and *' it was his opinion that it was all 
nonsense for any feller to say he couldn't break off, 
when the fact was that he wouldnH." 

If I didn't pat the old farmer on the back, for the 
common sense of that remark, it was not because I 
didn't fully indorse it ; nor did I fail to sympathize 
with his chagrin afterwards, when he remarked with 
a sigh, as he looked out of the car window, ''it is 
such a pity my farm aint down this way. I might 
make my independent fortin now, selling small 



844 Folly as it Flies, 

notions ; for instance, look at them flowers in that 
gardin — ^it is astonishing how much money can be 
made now-a-days, just selling bokys." Our farmer was 
very human, too, for, just then, as we stopped for a 
minute, a young girl rushed up to the car- window to 
say a hurried " how d'ye do," to an old man. That's 
a very nice gal, only to get a shake ofihepaw^'^ said he, 
compassionately. Well, we worried through that 
long day as best we might, the poor children in the 
company half beside themselves with fatigue and hun- 
ger; and and the men talking loudly about " swin- 
dling railroad companies," and threatening " to make 
a noise about it," when they reached their native Frog- 
town. After stopping about dark at a miserable place 
to get a miserable supper, we proceeded on the few 
remaining miles to Pittsburg. The glowing red 
lights of the great smelting furnaces, across the 
river, as we approached the city, looked very cheer- 
ful, through the fog, and gave promise of the warm 
reception of which we stood so greatly in need. 
Our troubles were over, as soon as we landed at the 
principal hotel, where solid, substantial comfort as 
well as luxury awaited us ; in the shape of immense 
beds, with pillows whose sides did not cling together 
for want of feathers, as is too often the case in very 
pretentious hotels ; in plenty of towels, in plenty of 
bed-clothes, and in a lookout from the window on 
the " levee " and across the river, upon the heights 
of Mount Washington, which we sleepily remarked 
we should be sure to explore the next morning. 
Fortified by a splendid night's rest, and a luxurious 
breakfast we did do it, spite of fog and threatening 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 345 

clouds. Up — up — up — till it seemed as if, like 
aerial voyagers, we were leaving the world behind 
us. But what a sight when we reached the summit ! 
How like little birds' nests looked the houses dan- 
gerously nested beneath those rocky, perpendicular 
cliffs ! Kor was " the solitary horseman " wanting, 
" winding round the brow of the hill," for there were 
houses and farms, and overhanging fruit-trees, and 
above all, a placard on a fence, with the announce- 
ment that the hours for this school for the young 
were from nine till twelve in the morning, and from 
two till four in the afternoon. Thank heaven ! said 
I, that there is one place where health is considered 
of some importance in education. Seeing a coal 
mine near, my companion proposed we should pene- 
trate a little way into its dark depths. A lad with a 
donkey-cart had just preceded us, with a small lamp 
fastened to his cap in front He looked doubtfully 
at my feet, and mentioned the bugbear word " dirt." 
I replied by gathering my skirts in my hand, and 
following the donkey cart Smutty enough we 
found the reeking pit, as we inhaled the stifling, 
close atmosphere. Its black sides seemed closing 
round me like a tomb, and when the last ray of day- 
light from the entrance had qaite disappeared, and 
only the rumbling of the cart-wheels could be heard, 
like the roar of some wild beast, and only the glim- 
mer of the miner's lamp could be seen, like the glare 
of its wild eyeball, all the woman came over me, and 
I begged humblv "to be taken out!" With what 
satisfaction I emerged into the daylight, and greeted 



846 Folly as it Flies, 

the bright sun which just then shone out, and 
plucked from the overhanging mouth of the dark 
pit, which compassionate nature had draped fantas- 
tically with a wild vine, a pretty blossom, which 
looked so strangely beautiful there^ some of my 
readers can imagine. With what zest I tried my 
limbs, scaled precipices, and jumped from cliff to 
cliff, to make sure of, and assert my vitality, both 
present and to come, in this breathing, living, sun- 
shiny, above-ground world of flowers and fruits and 
blue sky, my astonished fellow traveller, who for the 
moment doubted my sanity, will bear witness. 

And now, as to Pittsburgh itself, apart from its 
romantic bluffs and their surroundings, and out of 
its principal hotel, which is decidedly one of the 
best I ever entered, it is the dismalest, sootiest, for- 
lomest of cities that I ever stumbled into. Let me 
do justice to the enormous peaches and very fine 
fruits found in its market-place. Let me do justice 
to the independence of a female we saw wending her 
way there, on horseback, with a basket on each side 
of the saddle, beside another on her arm, not to 
mention a big cotton umbrella and a horsewhip 
We were to rise again, wretched fate ! in the middle 
of that night, to proceed to Philadelphia, on our way 
home. On reaching my room, and glancing into 
my looking-glass, I perceived the necessity for 
the unusual outlay of towels in our bed-room; 
for what with the visit to the coal-pit, and general 
atmospheric sootiness of Pittsburgh, my most inti- 
mate friends would scarcely have recognized me 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 347 

through the black mask of my complexion. Let 
me, however, do Pittsburgh this justice : it is a most 
picturesque and interesting town, and well worth 
the intelligent, or even the curious, traveller's visit 



Oh, the unutterable dreariness of an hotel parlor 
at two o'clock in the morning, as you sleepily tum- 
ble down stairs at the call of the inexorable " waitah " 
to take the midnight train of cars. How your foot- 
steps echo through the long, wide, empty halls, you 
thought so pleasant the evening previous, with 
their bright lights and flitting forms — tenanted now 
only by spectral rows of boots and shoes before the 
doors of still happy sleepsrs, or by the outline 
form of the swaggering Hercules who bears your 
trunk Shiveringly you draw your blanket-shawl 
about your shoulders, and sink down on the drawing- 
room sofa, deferring till the last possible moment 
your egress into the foggy, out-door air. Julius 
Caesar Agrippa enters the drawing room, and pla- 
cing upon the cold silver salver a cold silver pitcher of 
ice- water, politely offers you a glass. Good heavens ! 
ypur hair stands on end at the thought of it. " If 
it were hot coffee, now I" you faintly mutter at him, 
from beneath the folds of your woollen shawl. His 
repentant " Yes, ma'am, wish I had it for you," rouses 
you from the contemplation of your own pitiable 
situation, to ask the poor wretch (confidentially) if 
he has to stand there on one leg every midnight, 
in that way, contemplating cross travellers like 
yourself. Whereupon he tells you, with a furtive 



348 Folly as it Flies, 

glance over Ms sTiottlder, tliat *' it is every tbird 
night ;" and just then yon notice that a gentleman 
in the hall, with a valise attached, has just slipped 
something into Julius Caesar's hand; and pretty 
soon you see another gentleman go and do likewise, 
and so, gradually, it gets through your curls that it 
mayn't be so bad after all, for this perquisited 
Julius Caesar "to sit up every third night:" and 
humiliated at having been caught the forty -hun- 
dredth time throwing away your sympathy, you 
sheepishly obey the summons to " come," and forth- 
with pitch into the " Black Maria " that is waiting 
at the door to jolt your shivering bones to the depot 
Everybody in it looks sullen, and everybody's 
shoulders seem to be buttoned on to their ears. Not 
even a grunt can be extorted from a mother's son of 
them, by the roughest pavement. Silent, stoical en- 
durance is written on every Spartan ! And so you 
are all emptied at last, pell-mell into the cars, after 
kicking at offered peanuts and cold, slimy oranges, 
and one by one, ties himself (you notice I use the 
masculine gender ) into double knots on his respect- 
ive seat. 

Daylight creeps gradually on, after weary hours of 
twisting and turning. Your strange male vis-a-vis 
has overslept himself, and you have been, meanwhile, 
maliciously watching to enjoy his discomfited waking 
from that awkward posture, knowing, as you well 
do, that vanity has no sex. He starts, and takes a 
look at you ; then he rubs his eyes — combs out the 
pet lock of hair on his forehead with his fingers, 



A Tftp to the Northern Lvkes, 349 

gives Ms disarranged moustaclie a scientific twist, 
straightens out a wrinkle on his coat, turns down the 
collar, which has all night harbored his nose, gets up 
and gently stamps his pants down over his boots, 
settles his hat at the accustomed knowing angle, 
draws on his gloves and looks at jou, as if to say, 
Come now, you see I am not such a bad looking 
fellow, after all ! Of course you don't notice the 
varlet; you are very busy just then with the ''pros- 
pect" 

Between our midnight leave of Pittsburg and 
daylight, I was conscious, as we darted through the 
fog, how much we were losing in the way of scen- 
ery. Oh, those sublime Alleghany Mountains, and 
that lovely Juniata winding round and through 
them. I have no words to express my sense of 
their beauty, and my -unalloyed delight. I trust 
the coroner's inquest will be deferred on me till I 
drink that draught of pleasure again. Of course, 
through the narrow limits of the car window, and 
where one can only see one side of the way at a 
time, too, my tantalization was next door to lunacy. 
In vain I twisted my neck, and bobbed my bonnet, 
and, in child fashion grabbed at so much that I 
nearly lost all. Not all I for enough is left to dream 
over with closed eyes, when the dreary winter snows 
shall drive against the windows. Had I not been 
strictly enjoined by Mr. Fern never to jump a judg- 
ment, of a town, from a bird's-eye view out of a car 
window, I should quarrel with Harrisburg, situated 
in that gem of a valley, for resting so satisfied with 



350 Folly as it Flies. 

nature's work, as to ignore any adornment of art, as 
well as with, some oilier places near, and for tlie same 
reason. Come to think of it, I will assert my femin- 
ine right to declare that it is a shabby little town, and 
a disgrace to those kingly mountains, and Mr. Fern 
may like or dislike it 

Profiting by our experience of a day's compulsory 
fast from Cleveland to Pittsburg, we bargained 
with tlie head-waiter at the latter place, to fit us out 
with a lunch-basket, thus rendering us independent 
of the way-stations, where half the time is spent in 
fumbling out your money, and the rest in making 
change, the whistle sounding just as you get posses- 
sion of your knife and fork. As hot tea and coffee 
are now sold on tlie platform^ quite independent of 
the general scrambling feeding-room, if your lunch- 
eon-basket is furnished with a cup or mug to put it 
in, you may of course snap your fingers at fate. 
Eailroad people and way station providers have 
jointly themselves to thank for being outwitted by 
the well-provided ^' luncheon-basket ;" the conven- 
ience of which, especially where there are children 
in the party, and about one waiter in the feeding 
hall to two dozen people, and ten minutes to fight 
for food is plainly manifest; not to speak of 
the economy as it regards temper and digestion. 
Let me do justice, however, to one obscure way sta- 
tion, where a friend and myself were the fortunate 
discoverers of a squirrel -pie, with which, alas I we 
we had all too brief an acquaintance. A certain 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes. 851 

" Oliver Twist " near us, scenting tlie secret, called 
for '• more ;" whereupon the buxom young woman 
in attendance replied, " that she was sorry, but the 
^^-mrZ-pie was all outy It struck me that the word 
in would have been more significant, but I didn't 
mention it. 



I don't think my worst enemy can say that I am 
often betrayed in showing politeness to females. I 
trust I know my own sex too well, so miserably to 
waste my time. Once, on my journey, I waived 
this well known article in my creed, in favor of an 
unprotected one who was seated next me at table. 
Every woman but herself, had one of the male 
species to stand between her and the — " how not to 
do it " — ^landlord and his satellites ; — ^to have been 
more truthful I should have put this last word in 
the singular number. There was nothing preposess- 
ing about the woman ; she was wiry and angular, 
and had a horrible trick of snuffing ; perhaps it was 
all these that made me insane enough to pity her, as 
she sat there gazing into her empty plate, with a 
sort of dumb despair. What goodness may be en- 
shrined in that repulsive face and form, I said to 
myself; how tenderly she may, in happier days, 
when younger and more attractive, have been 
watched and cared for ; and how wretched to have 
only the memory of such things in this solitary 
place ; so I just snatched some eggs that after unheard 
efforts to obtain, Mr. Fern had fondly hoped to re- 



352 Folly as it Flies, 

gale himself upon, and offered them to her. Did 
that female thank me by a word, or even a glance ? 
Ye gods ? Didn't she take those eggs as if she had 
laid them herself? " Good enough for you Fanny," 
muttered I ; " one would think you were old enough 
by this time, to know better." I didn't say any 
wicked words ; it is not my way. Shortly after, the 
damsel who waited on us, and who employed the in- 
tervals when dishes were preparing in running up 
stairs to attend to her toilet : — First course being, 
no hoop, and bread-and-butter. Second course, 
crinoline and poached eggs. Third course, ear-rings 
and mutton-chop. Fourth course, ringlets and 
apple-pie ; — this girl, I say, sat before me, at my own 
private, personal request, a plate of tea-biscuit. 
The unprotected female looked at them — so did L 
Presently she poked me in the ribs and impera- 
tively requested ^'■them biscuit." Shade of Lindley 
Murray I you should have seen how civilly I in 
formed her that they were destined for my luncheon- 
basket, but that doubtless the damsel in waiting 
would attend to any of her orders for food, as she 
had to mine. You should have seen the " unprotect- 
ed female " at that moment. She was a panting, 
panther-like, gasping monument of philanthropy ill- 
directed. — Peace to her irate bones. 

The butter, cheese, and other dairy (I wonder if the 
type-setters will print this daily ) delicacies of Phila- 
delphia, are no longer a matter of marvel to me, after 
travelling through Pennsylvania, and viewing its ad- 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes. 353 

mirable farms, unencumbered by a weed or stone or 
tbistle, and as ar as foliage and fruit gave evidence, 
bj any noxious vegetable insect; and enclosed by 
fences in perfect order and repair. ISTot an unsightly 
object about bam, house or garden ; the very genius 
of thrift and neatness seemed peiTading^and presiding 
over all. It was indeed a delight to see them, although. 
I was not unaware of the years of patient, careful till- 
age which had brought them to such a point of per- 
fection. True — ^there might have been more flowers 
and vines, about their very neat dwellings, without 
endangering the Quaker's title to a seat among the 
blessed in a future state ; for I never will believe that 
if He who made this bright world, approved of univer- 
sal drab, he would have tinted the rose such a beauti- 
ful pink, or the morning-glory such a heavenly blue, 
or the grass such a cool, eye-satisfying-green ; but for 
all that, were I queen of the country, the Quakers 
should believe and wear what they pleased, as I would 
myselt 

We entered Philadelphia just at sunset, and rattled 
through Chestnut Street just as it was looking its 
brightest and best with its well-stocked shops, its belles 
and its beaux, and its bran-new Continental, where 
we longed to stop, had we not given our word to reach 
jiiew York that night. I liked Philadelphia from 
^Ke first moment I put my foot there, some years ago. 
It always seemed so cosy, home-like, — and comfort- 
able ; one might, one thinks, be so domestic and sen- 
sible there, while in New York it is next to impossi- 



854 Folly as it Flies, 

ble to be sensible, with tbe very best intentions. So 
I left Philadelphia with real regret, thinking of friends 
to whom I would gladly have said, even a brief " how 
d'ye do." May I be allowed to ask who invented the 
torturing style of cars from Philadelphia to New York, 
with wooden panels where windows should be, and 
seats divided ofP into spaces, narrow as a bigot's creed ? 
It may be all very well for spinsters and bachelors, 
but as I don't belong to either class, and as I like a 
shoulder to sleep on when I have travelled since the 
previous midnight, it was just simply infamous to shut 
me off, and bar me up from it by that ridiculous par- 
tition ; in vain I bobbed my bonnet, and got a crick 
in my neck, trying to reach the shoulder to which I 
was legally entitled without a permit from any rail- 
road company. In vain I doubled my travelling 
shawl and piled it on that shoulder, and tried to annex 
my head to it that way ; in vain I rose in my might 
and looked viciously at the wooden pane which should 
have been a window, and whimpered out, " Oh I'm so 
tired I " in vain Mr.Fem and I corkscrewed ourselves 
into all sorts of shapes, and asked each other, with a 
grim attempt at jest, " if they called that an accomo- 
dation train." Thank heaven, said I, if we do live 
to reach .New York, a hot supper and a warm wel- 
come awaits us I And now, seated at ease in mij|& 
inn, I wish to wind up these articles with a whis^P 
to landlords generally : 

I^irst : — ^Don't always fasten the looking-glass in a 
lady's bed-room in the very darkest corner, or attach 



A Trip to the Northern Lakes, 855 

it to some lumbering piece of furniture incapable of 
being moved, sive bj an earthquake. 

Secondly : — Grive ladies four bed-pillows instead of 
two, until geese yield more feathers. 

Thirdly : — Banish forever, with other tortures of 
the Inquisition, that infernal " gong," (excuse the ex- 
pression,) which has had so much to do in filling our 
Lunatic Asylums. 



THE END. 



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